


The Johnlock Christmas Tradition Advent Calendar

by the_elusive_plot, WhatIfIAmInsane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas songs, Christmas traditions, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 29,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5327780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_elusive_plot/pseuds/the_elusive_plot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIfIAmInsane/pseuds/WhatIfIAmInsane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes does not like Christmas, correction Sherlock despises the season so when his flat mate decides that he wants the prefect Christmas what will happen to the detective. A story of love, Laughter and eggnog.</p><p>25 prompts based off of Christmas traditions creating a Johnlock Christmas story</p><p>[This year (2016) it will actually happen!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Announcement

This is just a short comment from me [WhatIfIAmInsane] because I feel like it’s necessary.

 

This project was originally started by me and the_elusive_plot. We wanted to make a Christmas Calendar in which we would post a chapter of an over-arching story every day until Christmas Day. Sadly, because of health reasons we didn’t manage it last year. Now, I wanted to revive this project but didn’t manage to contact the_elusive_plot anymore.

 

What does this mean? Well, there were already a few chapters written by her and me from last year. I looked through them again, reworked a few parts and wrote a lot of the later chapters from scratch. I hope it will still be a satisfying story for everyone (although the first chapters will be the same as last year’s).

 

So, this year this Christmas Calendar will actually happen. I’ve got 25 chapters more or less ready to go on my computer [the Christmas Eve chapter is still not completely done, but it’s the only one acting up]. Meaning for everyone: starting on the 1st December, every day until the 25th December, there will be a new chapter to this story. I live in Germany, so bear that in mind regarding the posting time but there will be a chapter each day.

 

I hope everyone will have a great Christmas time :)

\-------------------------------

Hi, it's the the_elusive_plot here, so just a quick update; I am in fact alive, and hopefully will start writing again soon. Secondly I just wanted to go over what happened with the fic last year because whatifiaminsane did write most of this fic and I feel like I should point that out because when my name is on the fic it implies that I did an equal amount of work, when that's just not true. It was my medical issues last year that made me drop off the face of the earth which when I did manage to get back in contact with whatifiaminsane she was very understanding about my health issues. 

 

We did write chapter one together, the only chapters I wrote were chapter: 2, 3, 6 and 7 (I’m counting the the chapter after this one as the first chapter) other than that we worked on the outline together. The rest is completely her work so let's leave lots of kudos and positive comments for her :D


	2. It's the first of Christmas

It was the first of December. Not an altogether remarkable date, except that it was the day John Watson always gave in to the festive season. The shops were carrying Christmas sweets and gingerbread since September but before the calendar didn’t show the last month of the year, the doctor wouldn’t start decorating. Now though, since the flat was fair game in his head, he wouldn’t be stopped.

The decorations had been stored away neatly in their boxes until John had brought them upstairs. The first thing he had turned to was getting out his array of festive jumpers and the multi-coloured fairy lights. He liked to start with the fairy lights because they bathed the flat in a warm glow that made everything else feel a lot more comfortable. Knowing that Christmas music would alarm his flatmate of the proceedings too early, he had left it out for now, trying to gain as much of an advantage as possible. He was using the principle of _Get so much decorations up that the consulting Grinch can’t be arsed to take them down again_.

Sherlock slept erratically at best. They had just finished a case which had him in bed until about midday and he didn’t even deign it appropriate to come out of his room dressed in anything more than the hastily pulled off bedsheet. John had made his opinions on walking about naked very clear, so Sherlock had to concede with a bit of grumbling. His arguments usually orbited around _you’re a doctor there is nothing new to see_ , _why should I dirty clothes if I don’t go out?_ and an unintelligible sound of annoyance. Still, he wasn’t sleepy enough to oversee the drastic change their flat had gone through since he had fallen asleep.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice distrusting. Between two fingers he was pinching a piece of tinsel and holding it like it would attack him at any given moment. The array of festive nick-nacks which were strewn about the flat catapulted him back into his childhood. He wasn’t too sure if he liked it.

“Christmas decorations”, John hummed, actively trying to keep his cheer up although his best friend had awoken and would probably start to brutally murder it.

Sherlock pulled a face like the strip of tinsel had personally offended him, “Why?” He wandered further into their living room and took in the sight of the lights along the mirror, evergreen taped to their fireplace and worst of all a Christmas hat on his skull.

“Because it’s the holiday season”, John stated somewhat oblivious to Sherlock’s sneer and continued his decorating process. He pulled some mugs with Christmas prints on them out of a box, unwrapping the protective newspaper which had been crinkled around them.

“And that warrants the disfiguration of the flat?” Sherlock asked incredulously and threw the tinsel back on the heap, “I don’t see the use in that.”

The doctor sighed, “Sherlock, it’s Christmas. Can’t you just try to enjoy it for this one year?” He attempted to find something about it that could draw the detective in. Something the other couldn’t refuse. “Treat it like an experiment.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, holding on loosely to his sheet. “Why should I enjoy a season which is the prime cause for murder and includes something as horrid as decorations which are not even topical to that aspect? In what way do fairy lights and fire hazardous plastic shreds help you celebrate the drastic increase of domestic abuse and murder?”

 

The little rant made John stop and turn around. His eyes narrowed at the detective. “Well, even if you don’t like it, some of us enjoy a little Christmas cheer.”

Sherlock ignored the other’s change in demeanour and waddled back into the kitchen, just calling over his shoulder, “I can’t guarantee for the safety of your _cheer_.”

John swallowed hard and with the furrow of his brows turned into Captain Watson. His stance straightening and his voice adopting a fuller quality. “Oh really. Do you want Mrs. Hudson to know what you did to the bedroom ceiling?”

Sherlock shrugged while he was preparing some beakers on the kitchen table. “What do you think will be the problem with that?” It was a bit cumbersome because he could only work with one hand, having to hold on to his sheet toga. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen worse. I only got a scolding for the holes in the wall, too. I’ll take the risk.”

“Honestly Sherlock, I will find something and you will regret It.”, every word was meticulously enunciated, John’s arms crossed in front of his chest. Any lesser man would have gotten the hint straight away but Sherlock just sent him a calculating gaze.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

John shook his head slightly. “I will spill any and all secrets I know. I can make your life very uncomfortable.”

That made the other turn back around into John’s direction. His eyebrows were drawn together as he tried to work out what made his friends so touchy about the situation. “Why is it so important to you that I take part in your celebrations? Wouldn’t it be easier if I left you to it?”

“Sherlock, in all the time I have known you, Christmas has always been a disaster. Whether it’s a manipulative dominatrix or spending two years thinking my best friend was dead or marrying a murder who wasn't even carrying my child!” John raised his voice throughout the speech and his hand clenched at his side. He took a deep breath in the silence that had ensued and then looked Sherlock in the eyes. ”Just once, Once! I want a normal Christmas.” To gather strength it seemed, he closed his eyes for a moment before he continued. ”You will partake in the festive season. You will make a wish list. You will decorate a tree, be nice to Mrs. Hudson, play Christmas songs and keep your opinions about the holidays to yourself.” Even Sherlock understood that the tone didn’t leave room for discussion.

He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “I will do no such thing but since it’s your time and money you are wasting, I can consent to keep the scientific facts from you.”

John sighed but guessed that was about as good a deal as he would get at the moment and continued the decorating. Their flat had so many odds and ends strewn about it that it was easy to decorate. You could always find a place to hang tinsel or some baubles from. Sure, it looked quite ridiculous, but then again Sherlock himself had put headphones on his wall mounted bison skull. John actually thought about garnishing the hands, currently residing in their fridge, with a bit of tinsel but ultimately kept away from it. He had just pulled out a colourful advent calendar when he heard the detective’s voice again.

 

“What is that?”

The doctor had to chuckle, so much for not being interested. “Wouldn’t you want to know that?”  It was definitely worth the annoyed glare which was sent into his direction. “It’s called and Advent calendar. You can open one door every day for the whole month of December, leading up to Christmas.” 

“What purpose does that serve?” The detective’s face was contorted in confusion.

“It’s to make the wait for Christmas easier.” John just shrugged and put the calendar on the table beside their flat door, leaning it against the wall.

“We don’t have any children here.” Sherlock remarked but narrowed his eyes at his friend for a moment, as if to check that he was still correct in his assumption.

Content that at least something had sparked his friend’s curiosity John hummed, “Not so sure about that.” He left Sherlock along in the flat to fetch more decorations from the storage. When he had started this morning, he wasn’t so sure if his plan would prove successful but evidently using Sherlock’s childlike curiosity against him still worked wonders. Whenever he was told he had to wait for something, John could be sure Sherlock would start moving heaven and earth and that usually ended up being hilarious.  

 

Sure enough, when the doctor came back upstairs, carrying another box, his friend was now dressed and crouched in front of the chocolate calendar. Without touching it, he was scrutinising the printed cardboard and mapping the perforated lines. The design was tacky and everything cold logic would despise.

John cleared his throat and attempted to not sound too gleeful. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

“It’s only because I’ve never seen one filled with candy before.” Sherlock quickly straightened up again. Obviously, he was looking for the graceful way out of his predicament, “Mycroft used to eat all of it before anyone could use it as a count down.”

“Well, you can eat the candy this year if you like.” John smirked at the obvious route taken. The sibling rivalry might die down in normal families but with the Holmeses it was still going strong. “But first”, he moved over to Sherlock and dumped a box of decorations into the other’s arms.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but a practiced Captain Watson look silenced him and left him hurrying off to decorate. Without care and in an attempt to empty the box as quickly as possible, he just threw the decorations around. It left baubles hanging askew from the edges of books and little wooden stars littering the floor.

“Sherlock you can’t just throw them anywhere” John huffed gathering up the spread out decorations, rearranging them with care.

“What does it matter where they go they’re illogical so their placement shouldn’t matter either.” he said throwing his arms up in the air.

“They’re not illogical they’re...“ he paused for a moment trying to find the right word. “Pretty” the doctor said not being able to describe the warm feeling that settled in his chest when his home looked like a winter wonderland during the holiday season. “Just put them in their _logical_ place” he admonished, telling himself for the millionth time since meeting Sherlock to have patience. Sherlock just narrowed his eyes at the doctor and snatched the remaining out of place decorations from his hands.

 

With the number of decorations that John had chosen it took three hours to finish decorating the flat. In the end it looked like Father Christmas could live here if he owned a flat in London. The flat shone with fairy lights across the window and there was fake snow dabbed along the windowsill. Wherever there had been an empty space, now held a Christmas decoration: on top of the fire place there was a nativity scene and John had even managed to keep the Santa hat on the skull, much to Sherlock’s annoyance. In silence the detective had already plotted the removal of that particular item when the doctor was in bed. All in all it was just a bit too much for him. Even Mrs. Hudson’s flat would have nothing on their sitting room. Sherlock’s head was already trying to figure out how to subtly dispose of some of the more tacky things over the course of the month.

 

“These _decorations_ , had better not get near any of my experiments.” Sherlock stated, glaring down at the smaller man. He likes to make use of the difference in height because it was the only time he actually could win the upper hand over his friend.

John looked away for a moment to roll his eyes “No, none of these decorations should ruin your experiments. At least not as long as you keep away from them while performing experiments.”

They looked around the flat for a moment taking in their work; John proudly admiring his work, he looked over to the detective to find Sherlock wearing a sneer that could put the Grinch to shame. Turning on his heel the detective made his way to his room slamming the door behind him, and not for the first time in their friendship John wondered if his friend’s head wasn't screwed on just right.


	3. You can wish for everything

John Watson liked order. He liked rules and structure and lists. As a med student one had to be organized and as a young man he had perfected it to an art. With his habitual order to things, not to mention his love of danger, it was only logical his next step would be to join the army where he excelled, earning the rank of captain before the injury causing his discharge. But even now the old soldier found comfort in the act of organisation so it only made sense that John loved writing Christmas lists, not just for presents; oh no, but for: the things he wanted to bake with Mrs. Hudson, the presents he wanted to get for others, and even the relatives he had to phone even though he didn’t want too.

Christmas Wish list

  * New laptop


  * Replacement jumpers (for the ones destroyed by either experiments or cases)


  * Newest Bond movies


  * New Shaving Kit (last one was destroyed by Sherlock)


  * Medical grade cleaning supplies (Maybe Sherlock could learn to clean up his own damn messes!)


  * Sherlock to stop being such a prick about Christmas



 

OK the last one was wishful thinking but this was a Christmas wish list, you're allowed to put impossible things on it (given most of the time it's children who do this). Since John had come back to Baker Street, he noticed that Sherlock was more distant than he had been before. He would always make an effort to move away if John was too close. Other than on cases, he would start explaining something and then pause mid explanation and gave an excuse, usually an insulting one, to stop. The more time John spent at 221B, the more he felt like a stranger in his own home.

The slam of a door brought the army doctor out of his thoughts and signalled the detective’s return home from the yard. John came exited into the kitchen to find a Sherlock pacing across the living room tugging at his hair and immediately yelled “John! I’m bored!”

John was used to this behaviour by now but Sherlock always found new ways to shock and offend people so it was better to keep him away from the general population when he was in one of his strops. “Well if you have nothing better to do you can help me with Christmas lists”

Sherlock looked at him from his position on the couch and narrowed his eyebrows as if it were a bad joke.

In a stern voice John replied “Do you remember what I said yesterday?” crossing his arms.

Suddenly Sherlock was very energetic in coming over to the kitchen table to help.

“What are you doing?” He asked examining the lists scattered across the table.

“Making a list”, John said handing Sherlock a piece of paper and pen.

“Isn’t that what  _ Santa _ does?”

John looked at his flatmate surprised “I thought you would have deleted that.”

“I keep trying to but with all this holiday  _ cheer _ it makes it impossible to forget the imaginary figure. I don’t understand why people insist on telling their children this ridiculous lie. Surely they would be just as happy to find out their getting presents from their parents. We never bothered with any of that stupid joke. My parents were upfront about it and either way having one man visit about 822 houses per second is not only unlikely but impossible”

John made a mental note to keep Sherlock away from children this season and says “Since you're so impossible to buy for why don’t you make a wish list.”

Sherlock looks down at the paper in his hand as if it had done him some personal injustice.

“It’s a list all about you and what you want, I know you love to talk about yourself.”

Sherlock walks around the table to sit across from him “I’m only doing this to prove the sheer degree of ridiculousness. They sat in silence scribbling for a few minutes before Sherlock presented his list.

Wish List

  * a full working lab


  * Mycroft to stop being such a pitlock


  * Full access to the morgue


  * Free rein of the kitchen


  * Full access to the cases of Scotland Yard


  * An end to these ridiculous traditions!!!



 

John looked up from the list at the pouting detective. Responding to the last request the doctor simply said “No”, John had hoped that making Sherlock write a list may give him some idea of what to get him. The detective had always been hard to shop for but John wanted to make this Christmas memorable so he wanted to get his friend something special.

Sherlock had crossed his arms on the table and was resting his arms on top of them. “What's the point of this if I don’t get anything I want? Although it’s on my wish list.” he said in a bored tone.

“It’s supposed to be fun.” John sighed handing Sherlock his own list.

The detective scanned the list briefly and then raised his gaze to meet John’s “Well you’ll be waiting a long time for the last one”

John shrugged at his own wishful thinking. “Ok” he said deciding to take a different route “How about you help me make a list of what to get people?”

Sherlock seemed more tempted by the idea of getting to show off. They went through the people they know Sherlock explaining his deductions for why each person wanted what. By the end they had seemed to cover all their friends and family.

Christmas Gifts

  * Gregory Lestrade: New rugby Shoes


  * Molly Cooper: New Bathing lotions


  * Mycroft Holmes: Cake _For god's sake Sherlock!_ New Umbrella


  * Harriet Watson: Gourmet Coffee


  * Martha Hudson: New set of expensive wools


  * Mr & Mrs Holmes: a Gift card for a nice night out


  * Bill Murray: Expensive brandy


  * Mike Stamford: New teaching supplies



 

Looking at the completed list John and almost groaned realising that only one of them could get these gifts for someone unless they gifted them together he already had enough trouble convincing people that he and Sherlock were not a couple, this would just add to the problem.

Swallowing his pride John asked “Do you want us to gift these together?”

“Do you really see me shopping for gifts?” Sherlock huffed and threw himself onto his couch. Looking like for all he cared the world could end around him.

The army doctor banged his head on the table in defeat. This was going to be a long month.


	4. Some things are (not) best left to the imagination

John had just walked through the door after a bad day at work, filled with hypochondriacs and puking children. The first thing he saw upon entering was a sulking detective, still dressed in his pyjamas, staring mindlessly at the ceiling while aimlessly plucking at his violin.

“Did you move at all today?” John asked, making tea in the kitchen.

“Dull”, Sherlock responded not even bothering to look over at the doctor.

 

John placed a mug in front of the detective before moving to take his own chair at the desk. They sat in silence for a moment as John checked the comments on his blog, the stillness only broken by the occasional pluck of a chord.

“Remember we're going to the yard party tonight, try to find something festive to wear”, John said not breaking eye contact from his laptop.

Sherlock’s only response was a hum, still in his mind palace.

John looked up at the lounging detective, “Sherlock”

“What!?” He said finally looking up annoyed. For all you could imagine, he had just been interrupted in a very critical thought process but since it was Sherlock who was sulking, it had probably just been the reorganisation of his insults for Mycroft.

“We’re going to the party at Scotland Yard tonight wear something festive”, John said speaking clearly while pointedly looking at him.

“Festive?” Sherlock asked in a way that made John sound as if he were mad.

“Yes, you know: holiday colours or a Santa hat, maybe you could even wear those antlers we have from last year”, John suggested taking another sip of his tea.

The detective’s eyebrows shot up and for a moment, it almost looked like he was about to laugh, before he regained his composure and simply said, “No, I will join you in your  _ festivities _ you’ve bullied me into that much but I refuse to wear any holiday garments especially those;  _ antlers _ ” he said making the word antler’s sound like something dirty. He set his violin on the coffee table and then rolled onto his side, facing the back of the couch to signal that this discussion was over.

_ Vain git _ the doctor thought and then went back to his blog. Shortly after John began to hear a light snore from the couch he decided to let the sleeping detective rest. After John had made dinner and eaten his meal he was about to wake Sherlock to try and force him to eat something. With his hand just raised above the younger's shoulder he noticed how Sherlock’s head was rested on the couch and a slow smile spread across his face.

 

“Sherlock time to get ready for the Christmas party, I know how long you take” stretching his arm and moving his neck to get the cricks out of it Sherlock stood up and walked over to his bedroom. Opening the closet door he came face to face with the mirror inside.

A shrill “JOHN!”, was the first thing the doctor heard as he reached the bottom of the stairs patting down his holiday jumper with a gingerbread house on the front and little snowmen lining the cuffs, completed with little holiday light bulbs patterned around the collar.

“Yes Sherlock?” John said trying to keep a smile off his face as he entered the sitting room.

“What the hell are these!?”, The detective said pointing at his head, even when ferocious John couldn’t help but make the comparison that Sherlock looked like a disgruntled cat.

“Why those would be antlers Sherlock”, John did his best to keep a straight face but he could feel his lips twitching.

“Yes I understand what they are. What I want to know is why are they superglued to my head!” Sherlock’s voice raising at the end as he said this.

John couldn’t help but smile at this feeling awfully smug, “Because I thought I told you to wear something festive to the party.”

“What on earth makes you think I’m going to the party like this?!”

“Because you might want to know where your violin is” John said holding his ground.

The detective made a face as if he had just sucked a lemon before saying in a dangerously low voice “What. Did. You. Do. To. My. Violin.” making each word clear.

“Nothing bad I just hid it” the doctor said, feeling a little insulted that his friend would think him as cruel as to damage one of his most prized possessions.

A look of relief passed Sherlock’s face “Oh is that all? It should be simple enough to deduce where it is.”

“Really?” the doctor said feeling a bit proud as he added “and how long did it take you to find your cigarettes?”

Sherlock glared at the smaller man. It was true if John hadn't shown him where his cigarettes were, it would have taken him another day to discover they were under the skull. The detective spared his companion another ferocious look before going to his room slamming the door and re-emerging a few minutes later in a perfectly pressed bespoke suit.

John risked another smug smile not saying anything they went outside and hailed a cab. The party was in full swing when they arrived. Sherlock glared at anyone who dared look at him.  First thing he did was grab a drink and went to go sulk in the corner.

 

“How the hell did you convince him to wear antlers?!” Lestrade asked disbelievingly as John made his way over to greet him. Molly was shyly hanging near him with a faint blush still on her cheeks wearing the same dress she wore at their party at 221B during the Adler case.

“I superglued them to his head” John said grabbing a drink. Lestrade threw his head back laughing and Molly covered her mouth with her hand trying not to laugh and failing miserably. The three chatted amicably for a while longer before John decided to leave the obviously crushing pathologist and detective inspector alone.

John made his rounds greeting people he was on friendly terms with despite being friends with Sherlock. The sound of shattering glass drew his attention to the corner where a pissed off detective had just dodged a beer bottle thrown by none other than a drunk looking Anderson.

“You lying bastard!” the forensic tech slurred.

“I only tell the truth, and the only bastard I see here is the one that spends his free time picking up women who are too inebriated to consent” Sherlock said straightening himself and brushing invisible lint off his suit.

“Shut up freak! You couldn’t even convince someone to like you if you tried.” Anderson tried to throw a punch but John was already there and had him pinned to the wall before he could do anything. “Let me go!” He yelled struggling against the army doctor.

“Only cowards act the way you do, Sherlock may not care about the way he’s treated but I do and if you ever raise a hand against him again or even mutter the word ‘freak’ in his presence you won’t like the consequences” John said in a dangerous Captain Watson voice that Sherlock had only heard a few times.

Anderson was dropped on the floor to rub the bruises on his neck as John took Sherlock’s hand and lead him out of the building as people watched the scene in stunned silence. The cab ride home was silent. Sherlock curled up on his side of the cab texting Lestrade about what Anderson was doing in his spare time, his face impassive.

 

As soon as the door closed to 221B Sherlock asked “Why did you do that?”

“What? You mean punch Anderson, he’s a creep and he deserves it” John said hanging up his coat.

“No I mean defend me” the detective said looking away.

John fixed him with a funny look “You're my friend, my best friend you know this.”

Sherlock gave a hum and made his way over to his usual window to stare out aimlessly into the street. John busied himself making tea, he set his mug down on the side table next to his chair and placed Sherlock’s on the desk next to him. The doctor then proceeded to pull out the violin he had earlier hidden in his own room. Silently, John passed the case to Sherlock who set the case on the desk opening it with reverence and pulled it out to play a Christmas carol as John watched from his chair sipping tea. The detective had completely forgotten that he was still wearing the antlers.


	5. Not quite a surprise

The flat was dead silent when Sherlock woke up. A quick glance on his mobile confirmed that John had started his shift at the clinic about two hours ago. This left the detective with ample time to get his plan underway. Luckily, his bedroom had been spared from the decoration wrath his flatmate had unleashed over each and every of their shared rooms. It gave him a bit of wake up time before he had to enter the Christmas wonderland. With a sigh Sherlock pulled himself out of bed, foregoing the sheet for now because no one was there to complain.

“This still is completely ridiculous.” He murmured as he put the kettle to boil. Even most of their normal mugs had been replaced with Christmas themed ones and Sherlock was currently staring at a particularly horrid one. The hollowed out head of a snowman was grinning at him from the cupboard.

“I can’t even decide what the worst thing about you is.” Sherlock shook his head and placed the mug on the table. “I think I’ve still got some blood and rat intestines for you.” While he was pointedly making his tea in one of the only near normal mugs that their kitchen held, he was pulling out whatever he would need to make the snowman disfiguration unusable for John. In the end it took about as much time to have his breakfast tea, as it needed to destroy the mug. Well, he would leave it on the table next to his microscope for good measure. It was always best to let the doctor himself decide that certain dishes were unusable. Besides he felt like he was still allowed one retaliation for the antler incident. It had taken him 20 minutes, a lot of patience and shampoo to carefully dissolve the glue from his hair. Luckily John hadn’t actually grabbed superglue or he would have had to cut the antlers out. Still, the hatred for that act was still simmering just below the surface.

 

After pulling on some old pyjamas and his dressing gown, Sherlock quietly took the stairs to John’s room. He knew that the other wasn’t home so his secrecy was a bit overdone but he felt like if you wanted to sneak a peek at presents, you had to go all the way. Of course he used to do the same as a child. Patience had never been his forte and so he had waited for the most opportune moment to search the house for his presents. At first he had felt incredibly smart because he thought his parents didn’t know what he was doing. Obviously mums always are aware of what their little ones are up to. So the next year none of Sherlock’s presents were stored in the family’s house but at those of friends and relatives. It hadn’t kept him from looking but the hunt wasn’t nearly as fun when there was nothing waiting at the end.

Now, though, he knew that John had at least one thing hidden in his room. They had discussed the idea of gifts already earlier and Sherlock had, albeit grudgingly, agreed to small presents. Nothing too big, just enough to acknowledge the other as a friend in their life. When the other had come back yesterday, it was plain to see on his face what had warranted the diversion from his usual route home.

 

“Now, where did you put it?” Sherlock murmured after closing the door behind him. He looked around John’s neat room calculatingly. The doctor didn’t spend much time up here and so most of his possessions were somewhere in their sitting room. In contrast to his own, his friend always kept everything in order, even a book would always go back into the first drawer of his nightstand instead of lying on top.

“Whatever you bought, it has to be here.” Sherlock took two steps closer to the bed and turned around his own axis. “No, not under the bed. Nightstand is possible but unlikely, too many moral standards of not wanting a present near his condoms and lube.” It helped Sherlock when he thought out loud, so he continued with a steady stream of words falling from his lips. This was another reason why he had to wait until the doctor was safely at work. “Come on it was your stupid idea. You can’t have hidden it that well. You can’t even come up with a decent password for heaven’s sake.” The detective didn’t want to touch too many of John’s things in the process otherwise he would have just started to turn the bedroom inside out. But whatever he touched now would have to be returned to its exact physical position and standard. The less he moved, the less he would have to clean up and the less possibilities of John being aware that someone had snug into his room.

 

In the end, a small box at the back of the other’s closet was the culprit. Careful not to disturb anything on the way Sherlock pulled it out and sat cross-legged on the floor. A certain kind of fuzzy excitement was fluttering in his chest. “Pull yourself together, it’s just some simple present, nothing that would actually matter. It’s like John getting the milk.” He admonished himself. Still, he licked his lips once before he removed the lid and peered into the box. Within it lay a book in a dark brown leather binding. It looked like it was an antiquity, a genuine one not a replica. Nimble fingers tentatively picked it up to look at the cover. “ABC of Bee Culture” Sherlock read in a rapt tone. He flicked open the lid to reveal the title page. The book was one of the first editions of the Encyclopaedia written by Root. Sherlock smiled widely. Bees were one of his secret passions and especially antique books about apiculture held a special place in his mind palace. He was surprised that the doctor had picked up on that.

Suddenly it felt like he had done something forbidden. Sherlock pulled his eyebrows together in confusion. They had never explicitly put up the rule that peeking at presents was taboo and even then he would usually simply not care about it. Now though, he felt compelled to quickly replace the book and leave the room, making it seem like he had never entered it. It was a curious new feeling but he didn’t stay to investigate it. The other brought out the most novel reactions in him, he shouldn’t be surprised by that by now. Apparently that magic even work over distance.

Sherlock bounded down the stairs, still a soft grin on his face. Obviously he would have to school his features into a mask of complete disinterest before John returned from work but for now he could enjoy the knowledge of his present. If he played his cards right, he might even get to start reading it while the other was out. Of course he would have to be quick and do it before it would be wrapped in Christmas paper. For now he left the book where it was, though. The curious feeling of touching something forbidden not having ebbed away completely. A quick glance to the kitchen table revealed that his blood and intestine mug was still standing perfectly visible on the wooden surface. Time to get the scowl on and occupy the couch. After all he didn’t want to give John a hint as to what had been going on in the flat while he was getting sneezed at.


	6. On silent feet

“Really John, this is incredibly useless.” Sherlock sighed and focused back on the dish in front of him, “Don’t you see that I’m in the middle of a vital experiment? I don’t have time to do something as childish as polish a pair of shoes for an imaginary man.” The discussion about St. Nicholas had been going on for most of the morning already. John’s first hints at the next day had initially been met with just a drawn up eyebrow and a huff. By now he had gotten so insistent that Sherlock was starting to question his friend’s mental health.

“Sherlock, you have been randomly cutting up eyeballs for two hours now.” John said exasperated, “It’s not vital you are just bored.”

“It’s an important experiment to prove…”

“For heaven’s sake you know the anatomy of an eyeball, don’t tell me otherwise.” John interrupted Sherlock frustrated. “And if not you might have forgotten that I am indeed a doctor so ask if you actually need to know something.”

Sherlock huffed. It was true, he had been spectacularly bored since he had woken up. The eyeballs stored in the freezer had been a nice distraction although he really just was placing random cuts. There was nothing new to be learned from them. He used them like other people used a knit piece: To occupy his hands. He’d rather annoy John with scalpels and needles being poked into body parts on their kitchen table than claw out his own eyes due to sheer ennui. The array of festive decorations weren’t helping either and since the doctor was on his day off from clinic duty the detective couldn’t even sneak upstairs to take a look at the book he had discovered the day before. This day was proving to be a challenge.

 

“Are you listening at all?”

“Well, I’m assuming you are still going on about the weird idea of putting out shoes for an imaginary being to come along and fill with what? Mandarins? You know I’m not a fan of those so, thank you but I will refrain from putting work into something I won’t like the outcome of.” Sherlock huffed and put his scalpel down. The eyes weren’t entertaining anymore. In fact, nothing was and that let him sink into a massive sulk.

 

The whole day was spent bickering about the one or other thing since Sherlock had nothing better to do than pick a fight over each and every object in his line of sight.

“Those reindeers are disgusting”, Sherlock declared and pointed at an array of decorations on their windowsill, “How could anyone decide to pay actual money for them?”

“What? Oh, they were a present.” John just shrugged and stood up from his chair, stretching for a moment. “I dare you. If you touch them you’ll be sorry.”

“Why?” Sherlock pulled a face of disgust, “The world would be better off with them destroyed beyond recognition."

“Don’t think I have forgotten what you did to the mug.” John called on his way to the bathroom, “You’re not forgiven for that either.”

“But it was hideous and it was staring at me.” The detective objected.

“I don’t care. You made it unusable. Now I have an eye on you.” John stopped before going into the bathroom. “They’d better all be still there when I come back.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and waited until John closed to door behind him. His attention hadn’t even been on the reindeers. There were two snow globes which were way more offensive than the plastic animals. With a quick motion they were buried behind stacks of papers none of them ever laid a finger on. He would need John out of the flat to dispose of them but getting them out of sight was enough for now. He was just rearranging the other decorations to make the holes left by the now hidden abominations disappear when John came back.

“Hey I told you not to touch them.” The blond quickly was standing behind Sherlock to look over his shoulder.

“You did say no such thing.” Sherlock hummed. “I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of the golden cut. No wonder this all looks so horrible because you’ve literally placed everything in a complete disarray. There is a balance to be kept between the individual pieces. It’s all rather pedestrian but since you can’t seem to keep up with even that, I’ll have to do it.”

John had to laugh and clapped a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sure, if you feel better with that. Just be aware, I know exactly how many of the reindeers there are so don’t bother getting rid of them individually. I’ll know.”

Sherlock just shrugged his friend’s hand off and continued with his mindless rearrangement of the figures. His actual plan had worked. John had been too focused on everything else to be aware of the disappearance of two snow globes. What a lucky day. Well, at least a bit. There was still the St. Nicholas disaster to be taken care of because in his mind nothing and no one would bring the detective to give in to that tradition.

 

Later that night, Sherlock was like always still awake way after John had gone to bed. He was lying stretched out on the couch, fingers pushed together beneath his chin. It was a curious feeling. The whole day he had fought John tooth and nail to be left out of that weird tradition. Now that the other had given in and left him to do as he pleased, he was seriously considering revisiting the topic. Yes, John liked everything that was tradition, especially when it came to Christmas and Sherlock had agreed to not actively bring down his cheer. But he also had never agreed to participation. It felt like the doctor had pulled some previously unknown strings. Sherlock felt guilty. He sneered a bit at that thought. There wasn’t a moment in his life he had felt guilty for before, not really. He had always had a good, logical reason for his behaviour and so in his eyes it never warranted the psychological torture that was guilt. Funny how some daft little tradition wanted to change that.

With a deep frown on his face he pulled himself off the couch and looked for a pair of his nicer shoes, one he usually didn’t wear and thus wouldn’t need polishing. You could see the definite discrepancy between his, tailor made, soft leather shoes and John’s sturdy army boots which were polished within an inch of their life. Sherlock sighed at not only the proclamation of difference in lifestyle but also character they displayed. He really had no idea how they ended up living together, especially again after the doctor had gotten a taste of the normality, he so craved.

Sherlock didn’t like the direction his thoughts were heading into and just put his shoes down besides John’s. He liked John as a friend, as a colleague and someone to watch crap telly with after an underwhelming case. Why did he suddenly want to play along to the other’s festive shenanigans? There was no logical reason for him to want to see the content smile the other exhibited when he looked at their flat. The detective took that problem with him to bed, already sensing he wouldn’t find an answer to that soon.

 

Mrs. Hudson smiled when she came up the stairs to find two pairs of shoes. They were her boys and she was happy to have them both back in the flat. It was December and she was sure the time would give them the last push. Never one to just leave matters in faith’s hands, she decided to help a bit, starting with some small treats. Sherlock turned particularly grudegy during Christmas time so some positive reinforcement would hopefully help.


	7. Quick, get eggnog!

John carefully lit the second candle on the advent wreath while in the background Sherlock mumbled something about John being a hypocrite about fire hazards in the flat popping another chocolate in his mouth. The doctor made his way to the kitchen opening the fridge to check if his homemade eggnog had cooled enough to drink and wasn't contaminated by any of Sherlock’s experiments.

Smiling to himself John poured himself a glass of eggnog, before asking Sherlock “Do you want to try some?”

“No thank you I’m not interested in salmonella poisoning”

“Try it, I know how much you’ve liked the other Christmas treats so far”

Sherlock grumbled something from the couch looking very much like a child and then finally said “I’ll only try it as an experiment.”

 

An hour later John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch each with a glass of eggnog, John had neglected to tell Sherlock that this eggnog was alcoholic and Sherlock had most likely deleted it, the detective was now somewhat tipsy and John got to see a more bubbly outgoing version of his friend even if he wasn’t outright drunk.

Sherlock wore a lopsided grin giggling as they finished discussion one of their earlier cases. There was a pause before John asked the younger man “Sherlock… Why don’t you like Christmas?”

The detective was suddenly very sombre examining the drink in his hand, Downing the entire drink he then said “Because sentiment is a defect found on the losing side”

John took the empty glass from his friend’s hands and set it gently on the coffee table, the detective had started to lean against the older man and found his jumper to be soft enough that he started to snuggle towards his companion

 

“Sherlock?” the doctor tried to wake his friend as head rested in his lap the response he received was a light snore. John gave his friend a fond smile and maybe it was the alcohol but he proceeded to start petting the detective’s hair until he too fell asleep.


	8. Jingle Bell Christmas Hell

The door to 221B shut with a reverberating slam, as both men entered the flat. They had just finished a case where they had sat for hours at the mall pretending they were over religious zealots talking about how Christmas had become a sham and people should repent. John for the life of him could not understand how this was supposed to draw out their killer but four hours later John was pulling the Christmas butcher off his friend and pinning him to the nearest wall.

As much as John liked Christmas, there were a few things about the season he hated one of which being the never ending loop of Christmas music. For four hours they had listed to nothing but the same selection of Christmas music over and over again. After the first half, hour John started to feel sorry for the people working there and then an hour in he desperately wanted to leave but the Christmas Butcher had already killed four people and they needed to catch him.

After statements were finished and a long ride home the two men were exhausted and ready to punch something. Each settled into their routine; John, his usual British method of fixing everything with tea and Sherlock who was now trolling the both John’s and his blogs. The hours passed silently only broken up by the tapping of keys.

 

The stillness was broken when the doorbell rang and a fusing Mrs. Hudson could be heard faintly before the carollers started to sing Silent Night. Both men froze in what they were doing to give a horrid glance to the other before the detective got up to pull a bucket out from under the sink and began filling it up with water.

“Sherlock!” The doctor said trying to sound stern and failing. Sherlock flipped off the tap and moved towards the window John trailing behind him to be looking out the window as well when the detective proceeded to drop a bucket of water over six carollers who ran screaming from the residence, throwing angry looks back at the window that John and Sherlock were standing at.

“Ba humbug” Sherlock said slamming the window down, which was all John needed to finally burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. Sherlock couldn’t help but grin along. The mood was short lived when Mrs. Hudson decided to take her vengeance in the form of playing Christmas carols loudly

John tried to block out the noise by reading as the detective played his violin attempting to find a melody that didn’t turn back into what he was hearing with the newest carol stuck in his head. The detective finally gave up placing his violin on the table and flopped down on the couch.

 

A few moments latter Sherlock raised his head to stare over at his friend who was now humming Jingle Bell Rock.


	9. Who ate all the candy canes?

“Where the hell?” John was looking around the flat puzzled. He was absolutely certain, he had bought another handful of candy canes with his last trip to the shops. Actually, he had been sure of having bought several before but somehow they kept vanishing. First, he had just thought that he had stored them away so well that now he couldn’t find them anymore. This time, he had put them square on the coffee table. So he could pick them up and hang them on the tree when they got one. Was he becoming muddle-headed?

 

He rubbed his hand over his eyes before he called: “Sherlock? Do you know where the candy canes went?” There was not much hope in the doctor but one could try it. Perhaps this was one of the rare days when his flatmate proved to be helpful.

“Why do you ask me?” Sherlock’s voice came from his room. John hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he had perceived it correctly but his friend’s voice had sounded somewhat guilty, or at least suspicious.

“Because usually when Christmas stuff goes missing, you are to blame.” John remarked, moving closer to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Of course he had noticed that Sherlock was slowly, albeit carefully, removing some of the decorations. He liked giving Sherlock the illusion of having a bit control over the situation if it meant he could live with the rest staying where it was. On day one, he wouldn’t have been this free giving but a week in and Sherlock hadn’t destroyed anything major, yet. John thought this behaviour warranted some positive reinforcement. Therefore, Sherlock was allowed to continue his shenanigans and John felt like this might become their very own Christmas tradition.

 

“I haven’t touched your hideous decorations” a blatant lie and John knew it.

“And the mug?” he asked with a smirk, almost at Sherlock’s door. It was curious, normally by now the other would have come out of his room. Most of the time, John was somehow prevented from entering his flatmate's room at all.

“There is nothing you can do to me which would be worse than staring at that every morning.”

“Okay, then where are the candy… really?” John had rounded the corner and was now standing in the doorway. He stopped quite dumbfounded at what he saw. Sherlock was engrossed in a book, which probably was the explanation as to why he hadn’t paid attention to his flatmate’s whereabouts. In his hand, he was holding a red and white striped candy, tongue occasionally darting out to lick at the sweet.

At the sound of John’s voice, Sherlock’s head whipped around. His eyes were wide as saucers and you could see the gears turning in that massive brain. There was no way he could explain this away. Meaning, he wasn’t talking at all, just staring at John.

 

“Are those the Candy Canes I bought today?” the doctor asked, having spotted the rest of the candy on the mattress next to the detective.

“Ehrm…” Sherlock swallowed.

“Why are they in your room?” John asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. If he was honest, he thought the sight was quite hilarious. He wouldn’t have imagined it in a million years - Sherlock liked Candy Canes. Yes, people were fine with Candy Canes but John got the distinct feeling that all his purchases had taken the same way. Who ate the hard, peppermint candy in these quantities? Apparently, Sherlock fell out of the frame in every aspect. “You like them, don’t you?”

A faint blush popped up high on those chiselled cheekbones. The soft murmured appeared to just confirm John’s question.

“Fine”, the doctor chuckled, “I’ll buy new ones for the tree but only if you promise me, to not grab them behind my back. If you want some extra to eat, you can just tell me.” It was ridiculous. Usually, Sherlock had no quarrel in demanding the most outrageous items for experiments. As soon as it was something as pedestrian as Candy Canes, he reverted back to sly thieving tactics.

 

He just wanted to turn back and leave the other with his stolen goods, when he couldn’t quite shake one question from his mind. “Why didn’t you ask me to bring some when I announced I would go Christmas candy shopping? It wouldn’t even have registered with me as odd.”

Sherlock looked down abashed for a moment. “There was no logical explanation as to why I would need peppermint candy in stick form.”

“It’s Christmas, they are everywhere.” John answered slightly confused.

“So are striped peppermint bonbons, brittle, chocolate and others. The cane is the most traditional form but today mostly just used for decoration purpose, since the rest is more convenient for eating.” Sherlock quickly answered, his voice at lightning speed. “See, there was no logical reason for why I would want them in cane form if I was planning on eating them. It’s simply not practical.”

John looked at him “Have I ever really questioned any of your requests? Especially, when I could obtain them in a normal shop?” He was completely taken aback by this confession. The point which Sherlock viewed as problematic wouldn’t have made him stop at all. He would simply have bought and left them on the kitchen table like always.

“Really, don’t worry. Any other special candy I should know about?”

Sherlock shook his head, but didn’t look quite as embarrassed anymore.

“Okay, I’ll go out tomorrow and buy new ones” the doctor smiled and on his way out ruffled his hand through Sherlock’s hair without having actively decided to do so. He only realised what he had done when he was back in the kitchen, looking at his hand with a raised eyebrow. 

 

Why had he felt the need to ruffle Sherlock’s hair?


	10. Old ornaments

All the decorations were kept in the attic. There was no cellar to the house since the level where it should be housed the flat of 221C. Mrs. Hudson said, she was getting to old to use the small storage, therefore John had put things they didn’t always need up there. Besides the Christmas decorations, there were a few of his old Army things and now also belongings he had gathered during the time with Mary. Granted, those weren’t many but some he actually had wanted to keep. 221B just was too crammed at the moment to fit them in, which meant he had to put them in temporary storage in the attic. They would have to redecorate and reorganise at some point in the new year. John tried to not think too hard about how he would get Sherlock on the same page as him.

 

“Nothing for it now.” He reminded himself as he stacked two boxes on top of each other, “Today it’s Christmas Ornaments. Any cleaning and tidying has to wait for a bit so no need to fret about it now.” He was just muttering to himself, something he had taken up since first starting to live with Sherlock. John assumed it was his way to cope with his friend’s odd antics. “Well, if it helps. No need to change a running system.”

Sherlock was out for the day, or at least some hours since one could never exactly tell how long the detective would be intrigued enough by a problem to stay. Thus, the flat was empty and no one would be judging John’s annual inspection of his baubles. That sounded wrong as hell. With a chuckled, he sat the boxes down next to the coffee table.

The doctor preferred to see what had survived the year without damage and then decide what would make its way on the tree this year. Typically, he unpacked both boxes, then repacked one which would stay in the flat to decorate the Christmas tree when it was bought. The other would go back up into the attic.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He hummed cheerily and started his unpacking. There were countless baubles, tree tips, bells, stars, wooden figurines and glass ornaments gliding through his fingers. Each one was carefully looked at and then judged. This lead to John very soon being through his pile. Then one special little package came to light. John inclined his head slightly to the side, opening the box and tugging out some of the scrunched up paper towels around the item. He carefully pulled out a delicate little snowflake made out of glass. It was the last of a set which still remained.

 

 

_ “Johnny, come in here” _

_ “I don’t want to mum”, a little voice whined, “Look, it’s all white and pretty out.” _

_ “Yes, dear but we need to decorate the tree.” _

_ “Urgh, can’t you ask Harry?” _

_ “Why me?”, a second children’s voice screamed from somewhere behind the house. _

_ “The two of you, in here now” the mother called stern, “You will both decorate the tree together.” _

_ Under much protest and with quite a bit of time delay, two young children bounded into the house. Their faces were all red from the cold outside. Hats, gloves and scarfs were scattered along their paths while they made their ways into the sitting room. The large green pine tree was standing proud in the corner of the room. Different decorations were laid out on the table. The only thing already fitted was a long string of fairy lights. _

_ “I want the blue ones”, the girl screamed and made a rush for the table to snatch up the tray of baubles she had set her eyes on. _

_ Quickly a contest started between the children of who could quicker deposit their decorations on the tree. Whoever was first was also the first in choosing what they took next. It just ended when everything from the table had been cleared. Then their mother pulled out a separate box. _

_ “Now, calmly. You know these are very fragile.” She cautioned her children, “Each of you gets one to hang on a special place.” Very slowly she pulled out delicate snow crystals made out of glass. Each child took one with utter caution. Placing the crystals was always the last part to decorating the tree. _

_ “Does that look good?” the boy asked when he had chosen a place for his snowflake. _

_ “Beautiful” the mother smiled and pressed a loving kiss to the blond head. _

 

 

John smiled softly. The snowflake had lost a lot of its meaning since it was the only one left from a family of four. It only held the memory. John always struggled with hanging it into the tree. Something felt off about it being the only snowflake, like a reminder that this wasn’t a family Christmas tree. He sighed and wrapped the small item back up again. He really missed having the manifestation of love as a constant reminder, but there was no family to share it with. Perhaps… no that was a silly thought. Sherlock would hate the idea of sentimental items. John quickly tried to get that notion out of his head.

 

When every not needed decoration was safely stored back up in the attic, John went out to get Candy Canes, again. He made sure to grab a few multi-coloured ones for the tree and the classic red and white canes for Sherlock. All the while, his brain was still pushing the idea of reinventing the snowflake tradition his mother had started. He had no idea why it seemed so important to him. Probably best not to ask too many questions… or perhaps that was exactly what he should be doing.


	11. The perfect angle

“You can’t just go and pick any old tree.” Sherlock said affronted. John had dragged him along to a patch where there sold Christmas trees. He had gone under a lot of protest.

“I pick one that I think will fit in the flat and that’s it.” John shrugged. “It’s not rocket science. Just look for one you think will suit your purpose and job done.”

“What is the purpose then?” Sherlock asked. He had decided on trying to be helpful, well as helpful as he could be at least. Over the past days John had made it clear on multiple occasions that there was no getting around traditions. Now the detective only tried to bend the rules in a way which would make him be able to live with all of the Christmas cheer. The best way to do that, he had determined, was to appear like he only wanted to help his friend. When the question had turned towards a tree Sherlock had insisted the doctor got a real one. There were probably quite a few interesting possibilities to use pine needles. Obviously that wasn’t the reason he had brought to the doctor’s attention. No, he had gone with arguments that should he ever be forced to repeat them with the same amount of sincerity, he would have to kill himself. What he hadn’t calculated into his plan that his friend would mercilessly drag him along to choose a tree.

“Well, the normal purpose of a Christmas tree I suppose: Stand in the corner of a room and look pretty.” John shrugged, waiting for whatever his flatmate would declare next.

“I guess you are talking about our sitting room? We don’t have a corner that is empty enough to put a tree into.” Sherlock pointed out while he was looking at the offer of trees around him. It was surreal standing in a huge patch of chopped off trees in the middle of London.

“I was thinking we could clear out the corner between the windows and our couch. There it also wouldn’t be too close to the fireplace.” The doctor hummed and started walking around a few trees.

“I’m not clearing that out.” Sherlock immediately said, “And that one won’t fit.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“The lower branches come out too far. It will looked squashed when you try to put it in our sitting room.” The detective explained, “If you don’t plan to put it on a pedestal you will have to look for a tall but slim tree. While our ceilings are high, we don’t have that much room when it comes to the width.”

The doctor chuckled and looked at his friend, “So we are looking for you as a tree?”

Sherlock looked completely confused, “You can go a bit taller than me. I’m not nearly close enough to our ceiling to warrant concern about whether the tip would fit or not.”

John had to laugh and pushed Sherlock along. “Well, then go and find me a tree that is to your specifications.”

The consulting detective crinkled his nose, not really happy about his skills being used to complete such a mundane task as choosing an evergreen for their flat. Nevertheless he quickly scanned the fenced in patch to find the approximate direction in which they had to look.

 

“Sherlock, you really shouldn’t have done that.” John sighed. He had been the one to drag the tree all the way back to their flat. Sherlock had determined that because he had done most of the work when it came to choosing and buying a tree, it would be John’s duty to get it back to their home.

“Why not? We got the tree a lot cheaper like that although I still am sure it was ridiculously overpriced.” The detective energetically bound up the stairs. When they had decided on a tree Sherlock had proceeded to take everything apart the salesman had told them; from where the tree had been grown, when it had been cut to how long it would keep its needles. In the end, they still had gotten the tree at a discount price, simply because the salesman wanted to get them off his back. Sherlock obviously had seen it as a triumph for his superior intellect. John had wanted a tree and the madman had gotten him one, a perfect one for their flat. If that wasn’t enough participation in the Christmas Cheer the detective wouldn’t know what else to do.

 

Their slim hallway posed quite the problem in the quest to get the evergreen up into their flat. When the tree finally stood where John deemed it appropriate they were both quite out of breath.

“This is still ridiculous.” Sherlock panted, “We’ll have to get it down the same way after Christmas again. Why does one do such antics?”

“Christmas, Sherlock, Christmas” John chuckled and waved his hands about, “I’ll grab the decorations. You can make sure it’s standing at the right angle or whatever.”

The detective grumbled something but set to work, pulling and pushing at the tree until he was certain the best side was presented to the room. The pricks were inconvenient but he had handled worse. He wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it but the tree brought a nice, fresh smell into their flat. At least with the real tree he could have that small advantage along with the horror that were tons of decorations.

 

Since John had already brought the tree decorations out from storage, it didn’t take long until he came with a few smaller boxes. Most of which he shoved into Sherlock’s hands. “Why don’t you give decorating the tree a try, too? I’ll even let you put the star on top.” The doctor smirked clearly trying out how far he could push his flatmate today.

“You would let me do that either way”, Sherlock huffed, “You can’t even reach the top.”

“I’ve been decorating Christmas trees for years. I have my tactics.” John smiled, “I’ll just get the rest. You can already start.”

 

Sherlock fully realized that John was just supplying him with more decorations, not actually doing something himself. With an internal sigh the detective decorated most of the tree and John didn’t even complain when he left out a few pieces he found particularly horrid. Especially the tinsel just looked too much in his eyes. It got him a raised eyebrow but his  _ ‘fight me’ _ glare let the doctor shut up their non-verbal discussion. He wouldn’t admit it but it was fun. He was allowed to do as he pleased and John was only watching him, probably not trusting the peace. There might have been one very tacky bauble that totally by accident slipped out of his grasp, landed on the floor and shattered. John’s face was definitely showing that he did not believe a word of what his friend was saying while he cleared up the shards.

 

The star came at last, so much Sherlock knew. Obviously it would be more logical to do it in the beginning when there wasn’t anything on the tree yet that you could break but traditions, he had learned, were solemnly logical.

“It looks amazing!” John said grinning up at him. Sherlock felt an odd sense of pride swelling in his chest. It was a damn Christmas tree, getting praised for putting a few baubles on it shouldn’t feel like that.

“So are you ready for the holidays?”

Sherlock only grunted and decided that it was now time to take his leave. The day had been already too much festive cheer for his taste and he feared that his friend was also slowly catching on to the fact that the detective didn’t actually despise that whole ordeal as much as he pretended. He still wasn’t a huge fan of it but seeing John happy did things to him he’d rather not have laid bare. For now his room would be the safest place to retreat. There was no John, no decoration, no stupid festivity and most of all: no problems he didn’t want to turn to.


	12. For the family

“Sherlock?” The detective shot a distrusting look towards his room’s door. He had forgone getting out of his bedroom as long as possible. The voice his flatmate used didn’t sound too promising. It sounded like he would be burdened with another Christmas festivity. Sherlock sighed and looked on his alarm clock: 11th December. There were still too many days to go but he had made the decision to see if the point of least resistance was to just go along with the traditions. He was sure it would be horrible but it was just for a few more days. In the end he would find something for John to pay him back with for all the wasted time. Therefor he called out, albeit a bit reluctantly, “Yes?”

John opened the door and the first thing Sherlock’s eyes zeroed in on was the arm full of knitwear he was bringing into the room. The already dodgy feeling about what was to happen, manifested itself deeper in Sherlock’s stomach.

“What are those?” He asked distrusting, although he had already formulated an educated guess in his head.

“Christmas jumpers” the doctor answered cheerily, and put them down on the edge of Sherlock’s bed.

“Why on earth do you want me to put on one of your atrocities?” Sherlock asked pained. His eyes had gotten used to seeing his friend dressed in the colourful holiday declarations 24/7 but his mind couldn’t bring itself to see himself in one of them.

“Christmas photos” John just shrugged, “We should be sending out Christmas cards and with those you usually put Christmas photos. Especially if you are sending the cards from more than one person.”

“And I can’t just wear my usual suit sitting in our dressed up living room?” Sherlock’s eyebrows rose up. His resolution would be tested quite enormously right from the get-go. He didn’t even want to imagine how much blackmail material such a photo would make. “Besides wouldn’t it look a bit too much like we’re a couple? Last time I checked flatmates didn’t send out Christmas cards.”

John sighed, “Last time I checked, one flatmate also didn’t have to clean up bloodstains and cartilage pieces from the sink that the other flatmate had put there. You have the option either a jumper or antlers.” The doctor pulled out another headband with reindeer antlers and ears out from behind his back. Sherlock immediately saw red, thinking back at the glue incident from the Yard’s Christmas Party. With a lightning quick movement he had snatched the headband from John’s hands and snapped it in half.

“No” he growled decidedly which just provoked quite the laugh from John.

“I didn’t know that you feel quite that strongly about festive head wear.”

“I didn’t have strong feelings about them until you glued one to my head.” He still wasn’t happy about it and it was showing. Usually he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps but the Christmas time was chipping away at his resolve.

“Still sorry about it.” John said, “But I already told you that. Just pick one of the jumpers and then we’ll quickly take a photo. After that I won’t bother you with Christmas stuff again today.”

Sherlock scrubbed his hands over his face but heard himself agreeing to the mad scheme. Where had that come from? Of course he had decided to go along with traditions for John’s sake but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t put up a fight at all. The whole idea of sitting posed like a doll in their living room and having photographic proof of it sent out into the world, didn’t seemed as bad as it should. In all honesty the detective was a bit scared of himself. One thing he was proudest of, was his remarkable self-control. Apparently, it was slipping slowly, too.

 

A few minutes later Sherlock was sitting on their couch. He had picked what, he thought, was the least offensive piece of knitwear from the pile. The jumper was a deep wine red colour with a band of cream coloured snowflakes around the bottom hem. Sherlock suspected John had actually bought it especially for him because it fitted. Only one look had confirmed that all the other jumpers actually were some John owned and wore. There would have been no way, he would ever have put on a green jumper with an entire Christmas scene sewn onto it.

“It’s not that bad.” John smiled and set up the camera. Thankfully he hadn’t enlisted Mrs. Hudson to photograph them. Like this, Sherlock could at least preserve his ego for just a bit longer.

“That is a definite understatement.” He growled, fixing the camera with a death glare. They had already discussed to whom the cards would be sent. Sherlock was adamant that the Yard wouldn’t get one. There was no way he would ever live down the shame Anderson and Donovan would bring over him. Lestrade had seen him in worse situations and the DI was strictly against blackmail. He supposed his parents were okay. It would just add to the existing collection of embarrassing photographs and by now, one more or less wasn’t making the difference. Mycroft on the other hand had been a fight. Sherlock had asked why he would want to send Christmas wishes to someone he largely regarded as a waste of space. John said that was exactly the reason why the older Holmes would get a card.

“If you could put on a friendlier face that would be lovely.” John hummed, apparently having fixed everything to his liking. “Really, you look like the Grinch. Try to put on a real smile, not one of those fake ones which frankly look dangerous. Just pretend the camera is a witness and you need to charm your way to information.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That fictitious situation is frankly abhorrent.” Obviously, he would try his best to minimise the horrible outcome. Still, he didn’t like photographs and posing for them was even a step higher. He never managed to look anything but pained. It was a miracle that his friend even wanted to try the ridiculousness that was a Christmas photo.

In the end, it was over a lot quicker than Sherlock had expected. He refused to even take a look at the photo. He didn’t want to know what John would send around to their friends and families. The jumper though, well there would be no harm in keeping that on for a bit longer. After all it was warm.


	13. Another of the small things

John’s bright mood was already persisting since he had left the surgery for the day. On his mental to do list there was still an important point open – Stockings. Obviously, you should only be hanging them up on Christmas Eve if you were following the tradition. John thought they simply added another festive touch to the flat and would serve just as well as decoration. After all, there were no small children in their house and the stockings wouldn’t be put to their actual use. Nevertheless, they had the perfect stocking hanging place with the old mantle. Therefore the doctor had decided to stop by some shops on his way home, to buy said items.

While raffling through the display of different types, he asked himself which Sherlock would prefer. “None”, he muttered quite quickly, “He’d prefer none. So no point in actually trying to please him.” John only hoped that Sherlock thawed a little towards the date of Christmas. It was curious how someone could stay so incredibly distant and unaffected by all the cheer going on around them. Especially, since John knew the detective hadn’t grown up in a huge manor with unloving parents and no Christmas to speak off. It was quite the opposite, how John had experienced the year before.

“Well, Grinch or not. I’m buying these two” John grabbed a pair which fitted together. There was no use in attempting to fit anything to the décor of their flat since the theme there seemed to be ‘ _ mismatched _ ’ either way.

 

“Don’t we have enough decorations already?” Sherlock asked dryly the moment the door to the flat could be counted as open.

“I’d ask how you know about it but then you will just tell me something about the sound of my feet on the 5 th step up and frankly I don’t care.” John smiled, having kept his mood light. Whatever Sherlock would throw at him regarding the stockings, he would take it with grace and a smile.

“No, actually Billy saw you” the detective glanced up at John from the plate of what looked like mouldy bread “And since he was already in the process of delivering information, he disclosed that one, too.”

“Oh, I hadn’t seen him” John was honestly surprised. He thought, he had gotten quite a good grip on who belonged to Sherlock’s homeless network. Pre-eminently, Billy was a steady visitor in 221B, seemingly running the whole organisation.

“That is the reason, I employ him” Sherlock rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Him not being seen is what gets me the details I need. So, what exactly did you bring?”

John wasn’t completely sure but the gaze fixed on the plastic bag in his hands appeared to be curious. Hopefully, it wasn’t in preparation to figuring out an experiment in which to destroy the newly purchased stockings.

“I thought we could hang stockings on the mantel piece” quickly John pulled the red items out of the bag. “We have the space and it gives the whole thing a traditional flair.”

Very slowly and deliberately he saw his flatmate raise one eyebrow. The control Sherlock could exert over his muscles was sometimes scary, “You mean even more  _ traditional _ than you already made it?”

“Well,…” the doctor started. It was true. Their flat was already pretty crammed with decorations.

But then, Sherlock shrugged and turned back to his experiment on the table, “As long as you don’t make them a fire hazard, should I want to actually use our fireplace, do as you wish.”

John took a double take. Did his friend just completely forego any rude comment about Christmas decoration? There had been plenty opportunity for sure. Sherlock had only voice a valid concern and then dismissed the topic altogether as if it was nothing more than deciding where to put a can of beans after shopping.

 

Baffled John found a place for the stockings. He would probably have to make sure that Sherlock wasn’t secretly planning to undermine him with some never seen tactic of ‘ _ agreeing and letting you do what you want’ _ . Were his flatmate anyone else, he’d taken the situation for what it was and then forget about it. His flatmate though was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes never just agreed with you. Particularly not when on a previous instance he had made his stance on a matter abundantly clear.

There was something rotten in the state of Denmark. John just didn’t have an idea what.


	14. Early presents

“Yuhu, boys”, Mrs. Hudson’s voice was already way ahead of the old lady herself. Sherlock and John were both lounging around their sitting room. The day had been uneventful and as the afternoon slowly turned into early evening, Sherlock simply assumed it would stay like that. They were both seated with their laptops, John typing up a blog post and Sherlock researching the current numbers of bee species in North West America.

“Boys, I’ve been out with Mrs. Turner.”, Mrs. Hudson entered their flat with two wrapped up presents in her arm. Sherlock instantly looked up from his laptop screen, that voice couldn’t foretell anything good. He scrutinised the packages and quickly came to the conclusion that she had bought clothes. Since she was standing in their flat, she had bought clothes for them. Sherlock rolled his eyes, he was sure Mrs. Hudson’s taste in jumpers for him wasn’t as nice as John’s.

“And I see you’ve found something.” John chuckled. Sherlock just made another facial expression. Naturally his friend would strike up the conversation and make sure they would stay on good speaking terms with the old lady. He couldn’t be trusted with that should Mrs. Hudson really have bought them horrendous Christmas jumpers.

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Turner and I found these lovely things.” She smiled and handed them each a present, “I know it’s early, but I think early Christmas presents are just as good.”

“It really wouldn’t have been necessary.”  John smiled and Sherlock took the wrapped present gingerly. The weight and feel suggested that it at least wasn’t a jumper. His mind was running wild, trying to figure out what he would unwrap in a minute. He hated to be surprised because then he couldn’t guarantee for his actions. With a warning he could still tailor his reaction to not upset John too much. Sherlock had absolutely no idea, when it had become important to not upset his flatmate. Usually, he had very little regard for the feelings of people around him. It made life and the work easier. But somehow, especially during the past days of Christmas cheer he realised, John’s opinion had started to matter.

“Go on unwrap it.” Mrs. Hudson smiled and sat down expectantly. With a certain degree of fear Sherlock slid one finger under a piece of tape, pulling it away from the paper. The Christmas wrapping rustled under his hands.

“Oh, pyjamas” John had been quicker than Sherlock and the exclamation let the detective stop dead in his tracks.

“Yes” the landlady smiled happily, “Mrs. Turner and me found them. They were sold in sets. I mean of course I know you are not a couple but you’re doing so many things together and the way your flat looks… I mean, they are very soft and warm and I’m sure you can also just wear them as friends.”

“I’m sure” John smiled friendly, “They are very nice.” Sherlock saw how John felt the fabric between his fingertips.

“Mrs. Turners married ones have them, too.” she said proudly.

“Then we are all lucky to have such great landladies.” John thanked her, “I’m sure they will come in handy. The flat does get quite chilly at night. “

“Yes, old walls and so.” Hudson smiled, “Well, I better get back downstairs. I wanted to do some baking for tomorrow.”

“Sure, go ahead.” John smiled, “Thank you again for the presents Mrs. Hudson, we really appreciate it.”

 

Sherlock actually wasn’t sure if he did. The comparison to Mrs. Turner’s married-ones was coming more and more frequently. It almost felt like she was hinting at something and Sherlock was afraid John would catch up on it. It was true, John’s constant reassurance of his “ _ Not actually being gay _ ” had died down considerably. Sherlock wasn’t even sure anymore when he had brought that line the last time. They were in a very precarious balance. Sherlock swallowed and pulled his respective pyjama out of the wrapping. Both of the pyjamas were composed of one base and one contrast colour. His was dark blue with cream coloured snowflakes stitched all over the pants and cream edges around the shirt. John’s in turn was coloured the exact other way around, the snowflakes standing out in a deep royal blue on the cream background.

He should feel like this was a laughable idea. It was the height of sentiment. Yet, Sherlock felt a small warmth bloom in his chest. When John wore the pyjama, and he undoubtedly would, he liked practical gifts and never disregarded them, they would be linked. It felt like with that simple item of clothing Sherlock could put a mark on his best friend. He wanted to but a mark on John. And wasn’t that a thought he first needed to process?


	15. A quiet night sounds beautiful

“Sherlock?”

The detective only gave a low hum in acknowledgement, currently being deeply immersed in an experiment. His eyes were focussing through the eyepiece of his microscope, the flat around him just a dim presence. Finally, he had found an experiment which was worth his time. It had been a late night start and he had already been at it when John had gotten up. The bit of puttering around the flat didn’t distract him anymore. It had become just something which belonged to his surroundings, like his skull and the décor.

“I actually need you to listen with one ear.” The doctor chuckled, realising that he had to make sure his friend was giving him at least ten percent of his attention.

Sherlock hummed again, the words slowly seeping through the haze of information. “What?” There was an 87% chance that John would want something Christmas related from him. So far he hadn’t brought up the holiday once and the detective knew that the further along they went in the day without a mention of it, the bigger the news or request would get when it came.

“What are your plans for Christmas? I mean both, Christmas Eve and Day?” the question came a bit unsure and sounded as if his friend was asking for more than just a simple set of information. Sherlock looked up, realising he might have to engage a bit more than half an ear in the conversation. He found it incredibly tedious when John was pushing mundane questions to the foreground, expecting Sherlock to pick up on the underlying message he was trying to convey. Sherlock’s social ear had improved over time but he still rather turned it off almost entirely. While that was acceptable on cases where John would smooth out any ruffled feathers, it was a bit more complicated in private. Especially since Sherlock was realising more and more that a small nagging voice had taken residence in his head which didn’t want to upset John. Well, didn’t want to upset didn’t quite catch it, gather his positive attention fit a lot better. Sherlock pulled up his nose a bit. He had spent most of his youth attempting to disengage his self-worth and actions from the attention others spared him.

 

“Sherlock!” the voice was getting insistent and the detective scrambled for an answer.

“Nothing. I’m doing nothing.” He said. “I’m here to sit the flat, you can go off to your current girlfriend, is there one?” Obviously there wasn’t one. He’d have been the first to know but somehow it was still an active defence mechanism.

“You know very well that I don’t have a girlfriend.” John rolled his eyes. “I also wasn’t asking you to sit the flat. We already decided to visit your parents on the 18th and the party is planned. There really is no need for us to do anything on Christmas itself. I just wanted to know if your plans were approximately the same as mine.”

 

Sherlock blanked for a moment, disguising it as immediate interest in his ongoing experiment. The possibility to spend Christmas alone with John in their flat was on the table and Sherlock couldn’t quite place the turmoil of feelings raging in his chest. He still didn’t care for the holiday itself and all the sentiment associated with it. John’s over the top Christmas cheer hadn’t changed that either. But the possibility to spend the days you usually reserved for loved ones with John had implications he simply couldn’t ignore. Well, normally he could have ignored them perfectly but over the past two weeks things had apparently changed a bit.

“Yes, I wasn’t planning to go out.” He nodded with a slightly dry throat.

“Good” John’s voice was cheerful and calm “Then that is sorted. Do we want to cook or just rely on take away dinner?”

“I… it’s up to you.” Sherlock cleared his throat, on the lookout for his usual self-assurance and bravado “I won’t be cooking!”

“I had suspected something along those lines.” The doctor chuckled but didn’t bother Sherlock any further.

The detective’s hands were resting on the sides of his microscope, his eyes staring down into the emptiness not registering what they should be concentrating on. It was extraordinary how less control you apparently had about something you were sure of having mastered ages ago. Emotions were complicated and usually got in the way of things. Sherlock had learned to push them aside whenever possible. A bit of forced Christmas cheer later, he apparently couldn’t reign them in anymore. It all should be daunting, should send him scrambling for control but he sat still. Of course it was exhaustingly complicated and he was treading on thin ice but, and the but was a big one, there wasn’t an ounce of willpower left within him to change to course his feelings were taking.

“A quiet night in, it is then. Sounds marvellous.” John’s content mutter came as a surprise, piercing through the cloud of thoughts in Sherlock’s mind. Yes, a quiet night in. A quiet night in, with all the heavy implications it carried, sounded marvellous.


	16. Ice princess in training

“Do you know how many injuries ice rinks produce every winter season?” Sherlock asked, having launched into yet another attack on why they should stay well away from any ice skating activity, no matter if John had found an ice rink that was near to their flat or not. “Most of those injuries result in a noticeably long stay in hospital at a time where the staff is not very happy about where they are spending their Christmas and when said establishments are full to the brim with people having managed to poison, stab, strangle, cut or do other horrific things to themselves. It is simply irresponsible to knowingly add to that.”

 

The only response he got was a loud laughter from his friend. “Sherlock, I am a doctor. I am the one dealing with all those injuries. It’s not like we want to skate competitively. It’s just about having a bit of fun and I think it’s a nice exercise.”

“Did you listen at all?” Sherlock asked in horror when the iced over area came into view. He had made the fatal mistake of not having reacted straight away when his friend had come home and declared they would go ice skating. Truth be told, Sherlock had never enjoyed playing outside in the winter, not even as a child. All the other seasons were fine. There were things to discover and processes to observe but in winter everything was either dead or sleeping. Getting him out of the house had become an increasingly difficult task the further the temperatures dropped. As an adult he had finally been able to embrace the warmth of his rooms without being nagged to leave them. That was until John Watson had come along.

“I did. Now shut your mouth.” John smirked “A few rounds won’t kill you.”

“Ehrm… I’m not sure about that.” Sherlock tentatively interjected.

“Don’t be such a drama queen. It’s not like you can’t skate.” With that his friend was out of earshot and on his way to borrow them each a pair of ice skates.

 

“That is the problem.” Sherlock grumbled. He actually couldn’t ice skate. Since it had been such a task to even get him out of the house, his parents hadn’t even tried to get him into any winter sport. Later, he also hadn’t felt the inclination to voluntarily step onto a surface that was as smooth as glass just to land on his bum. When John had proposed to go ice skating, Sherlock obviously had been too proud to admit that small detail, especially since the doctor saw it as a naturally given thing. There had been no fitting time to disclose that little secret and so Sherlock had tried to get out of the situation the only way he knew how. Sadly his friend and flatmate was used to those usual games and didn’t respond to them anymore.

 

“Yours” John handed the bigger pair of shoes with razorblades at the bottom to Sherlock who took them with a wrinkle of his nose.

“Shut it, they are good for everyone else so they will be enough for you, too.” His friend had already started to change his shoes with quick fingers. “If they are not posh enough for you, you need to bring your own next time.”

Sherlock gulped. He would have to learn quickly how it seemed. John was already half way on the ice when he started to unlace his shoes with shaking fingers. Calm down, how hard could it be? There were five year olds running on the ice as if they had never done anything else. He was a 34 year old male. He had mastered several forms of combat. How much worse could keeping your balance be?

 

As it turned out: A whole bloody lot worse! So much for keeping his face in front of John. Any chanced he had had at that went flying out the window the moment his feet, encased in ridiculous shoes, touched the icy surface. He had no time to think before, with an undignified shriek, he landed on his bum. The shock of the sudden change in perspective didn’t let the pain register at first. Sherlock looked around himself confused, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.   _ The moment John suggested going ice skating and you didn’t warn him _ – a little voice in his head supplied unhelpfully.

“Oh god, Sherlock.” John was wheezing and had braced his hands on his thighs for support as he was laughing. A quick calculation on Sherlock’s part revealed that he would not have a chance to stand up with any of his dignity still in tack so he simply kept sitting there with huge eyes.

“You could have just…” John still couldn’t stop laughing, “You know, said something.” He pointed at the other’s body before he burst out into another giggle fit.

“If you are quite done, then” Sherlock gritted out between clenched teeth, “I could use some help.”

“Yes, no problem.” John was still giggling as he skated over to Sherlock to help his friend up.

“I guess we will have to teach you skating then.”

“We could also just go home and forget this episode ever happened.” The detective grumbled and held on to his friend a little more tightly than he would have wanted.

“Ah, where would be the fun with that? No, come on it’s not that hard.” John gently tugged Sherlock along to get him into motion. “I’m sure you understand the science of ice skating. Now you just need to apply it and keep your balance.”

“Balance is a lot harder to keep when the ground wants you to fall.” Sherlock bit out.

“You’re just grumpy because for once I can do something you can’t.” John was still grinning happily, seemingly enjoying the whole situation a lot.

 

Reluctantly, Sherlock let himself be persuaded to stay just a little longer. Perhaps it had been the arm around his waist which was holding him securely upright that made the decision a tad easier. After all: When would he get that opportunity again? That thought startled him completely. He was all but basking in the attention and closeness offered to him. It didn’t feel forced and if he was honest, he could imagine how preferable it would be to transfer it to other parts of his life, too. The sudden realisation, threw him off his mental equilibrium, not the physical one since John was keeping good watch on that. Why did he want to have John’s attention on him in quite that intensity? Surely, something had to be wrong.


	17. A night with friends

“I’m definitely not doing this.” Sherlock said decidedly. He plucked up his laptop and threw himself onto the couch. There was a line. Letting John decorate the flat was one thing, helping prepare a useless party another.

“You’ll be here tonight and you will be cheerful.” John said firmly.

“Where else would I be?” Sherlock huffed.

“You could also wear that Christmas jumper” John smirked as he was hunting for bowls and enough mugs for the evening. Of course he had noticed that Sherlock hadn’t given back the jumper from their little photo shoot. He had hoped for that to happen if he was honest. Sherlock always looked polished and clean. The jumper made him seem a lot more comfortable and soft. John didn’t want to change his friend but venturing into the unknown sometimes was fun.

Sherlock didn’t even look up but the voice he made, was so comprehensive that John just chuckled and continued with what he was doing. Mrs. Hudson was generously helping with a lot of the food. John just had to prepare the flat for their friends. Thinking about it, the comparison with the Iren Adler year imposed itself on the whole thing. This time John wouldn’t have yet another girlfriend at his side. Strangely, it didn’t bother him at all. He even felt better for it, as if the way things were always meant to be the way they were going at the moment. Plus, Sherlock would also not be incredibly gloomy and hopefully they wouldn’t end up with a danger night. All in all having a Christmas party without a case more or less active, seemed to be a perfect activity.

 

 

“Not really” John was wiping tears from his eyes, he was laughing so hard that his eyes were watering. Lestrade had just disclosed a few nice details from a case at the start of Sherlock’s career. It involved a wannabe pyrotechnician burglar who had rigged his flat with some kind of explosive. Nothing of that tendency had been noticeable before so Sherlock had unknowingly set off the trap and payed the price. Fortunately, nothing major had happened since the criminal had miscalculated. 

“I swear”, Lestrade giggled and took a sip from his mug of mulled wine. “Before he knew what was going on, there he was standing, slightly smouldering and definitely without eyebrows.”

“How should I have known that the criminal was cooking up a weird mixture which was bound to blow up?” Sherlock asked, slightly affronted and with a bit of a slur. He didn’t like being the laughing point of a story. It had been his third case for Scotland Yard and he had been still too arrogant to take in the whole picture.

“You are making a living out of knowing everything” John chuckled and looked at his friend. The lighting in their flat and the amount of alcohol they had already ingested helped with making Sherlock appear soft and approachable. Actually, the way he sat there on the couch, slightly uncomfortable with the story of one of his failures told, John felt the urge to pull him into an embrace, pat his head and perhaps even give him a kiss. That was a new one. But damn, the relaxed and cheered up atmosphere in their flat just made these thoughts flow freely. They were all lightly intoxicated, Molly already cosying up to Lestrade for about an hour now and John realised how much he missed that kind of closeness.

“There was no way I could have deduced it beforehand, not at the stage I was at” Sherlock tried to save his honour determinedly. The failures of his past haunted him. He had the same fleeting feeling of dread in his guts which he had experienced before when Lestrade had staged a drugs bust. Suddenly he was forced to admit to his problem in front of John, whom he had just met and who thought a drug habit out of the realm of the possible. The fear of this being the final straw could never be quite shaken from his mind.

“It’s fine, Sherlock. It’s an anecdote. You got it wrong, now we’re all laughing about it. Doesn’t mean that you still, on a regular bases, make the lot of us look like idiots” Lestrade threw in casually.

“Well, mostly you are.” Sherlock tried to bite back. John had to grin at the unwittingly funny edge the usually arrogant comment got when Sherlock had been drinking perhaps a tad too much for his own good.

“Sherlock”, Mrs. Hudson was slightly aghast, “You can’t say that to your friends. You know they are the ones allowing you to come and have a look.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson but it’s all fine” Lestrade quickly smoothed over the comment, “Often it really is as clear as he tells you and we’re just blockheaded from all the paperwork and overtime. Besides, a nice Sherlock is way scarier than one biting out insults.”

“That he definitely is” John agreed. Whenever Sherlock was being nice or helpful there was a good chance you had just been poisoned by him for experimental purposes.

“Oh, great” Sherlock sighed dramatically and got up, “Since I’m apparently horrible no matter what I do, I can also get myself another drink.”

Everyone laughed and Mrs. Hudson just sent him a motherly, despaired look; “You know, you’re not helping your drama queen image, love.”

With a huff Sherlock turned towards the kitchen. John looked after him for a moment, the conversation had picked up again between Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade who was telling her how in the end they still had caught the criminal. John knew they were all just joking and having fun, but he also was painfully aware that Sherlock didn’t always take jokes for what they were. He just wanted Sherlock to have a nice, light evening, too. Obviously, he hadn’t been happy about the idea of a Christmas party but until just then, he seemed to be quite content nonetheless.

 

It took five minutes of solid self-discussion before John got up and followed his flatmate to the kitchen. Telling himself that he simply wanted to check on his friend. Nothing more, just making sure there were no misunderstandings.

“Everything alright?” he asked, voice low enough to not immediately pull the attention towards them. They didn’t need prying eyes.

“Yes, of course. Why shouldn’t it?” the answer came quickly. It was the exact way Sherlock replied when he wanted to be left alone.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like having times you missed something reported back to you” John continued and leaned against the counter next to the other, “But it was not meant badly. We all know you’re human but we are also painfully aware that you trump all of us. So, to balance it out, we sometimes need to remind ourselves that even you aren’t infallible.”

Sherlock looked down at his still empty mug and twiddled with it slightly. He felt slightly stupid, having stomped off like that. Of course Lestrade hadn’t meant it badly.

John gently put his hand on the other’s upper arm and said emphatically, “You still are the most extraordinary person we all know”

He was wondering if Sherlock would give any kind of acknowledgement to this statement. When suddenly they heard a light shriek from their sitting room which was followed suit by a slapping sound. They both whipped around to look at their friends. Molly had clasped both hands over her mouth and was staring transfixed at a point somewhere above Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock asked, while John had already followed Molly’s gaze. A mistletoe. He had completely forgotten that Mrs. Hudson had put that one up earlier in the day.

Soon, Sherlock had also caught on to what was happening, “That is a stupid tradition. Just because I’m standing under it, I cannot refuse to be kissed? That makes no logical sense. Especially not because I wasn’t expecting to marry within the next year, either way. Just get that thought out of your mind. It’s a parasitic plant and you use it as some kind of game.”

Everyone had to snort with laughter, the party dissolving into a giggling mess. That had been just too much Sherlock for them to gloss over. Obviously, the detective would question every bit about the tradition and if they didn’t get him into another topic, they would probably have to hear about the origins of it starting in ancient Greece.

Still, John made a spurt of the moment decision, leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, whispering “It can also just symbolise lasting friendship.” Then he quickly grabbed his mug, refilled it and was back in the living room. Molly was slightly hyperventilating already, slapping Lestrade’s leg repeatedly.

“What? It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he smirked and sat in Sherlock’s armchair,  trying to be the picture of confidence. Although within he was a nervous mess and not sure what consequences that little kiss might bring. Why did he have to add the comment about friendship?

 

Sherlock was still standing in the kitchen, albeit now slightly shocked into immobility. What had just happened? His mind had stuttered to a complete halt, when he had noticed John’s lips quickly being pressed to his cheek. Now, it was overflowing with activity trying to sort out feelings, observations and potential intentions. How on earth was he supposed to deal with this while their flat was full? Like on cue, Molly had sprung up from her place and was coming towards him. A quick glance towards John showed him that the doctor was talking to Mrs. Hudson, so Sherlock would have to face Molly without help. Great.

 

Over the course of the rest of the evening, Sherlock kept a keen eye on the whereabouts of the mistletoe. He made sure to always stay a safe distance away from it. John wasn’t sure if he was glad, or should feel crestfallen. After all, he assumed it was his action which lead Sherlock to behave this way. They would probably have to talk about it at some point, just so they could clarify the lines again. John didn’t want Sherlock to feel uncomfortable because of a little joke. Well, he was still selling it as a joke, although it didn’t seem the right notion.


	18. Hangover and Headache

Waking up to a genuine hangover was something Sherlock hadn’t experienced in a long time. After rehabilitating from cocaine, albeit that happened under pressure from both Mycroft and Lestrade, he also had stopped the alcohol. There simply was no use for it anymore. He didn’t go to parties where it would be socially expected to drink and in private he had never felt the urge to dim his senses. Well, apart from that one memorable time at John’s stag night. After all he had had the best of reasons then, trying to forget what was happening around him and especially the next day. Even if he might only have realised the enormity of his feelings for his friend now, they had been there for a long time.

 

Slowly, the detective peeled himself out of bed, taking an incredible amount of care not to move his head too much in the process. Yesterday, it had seemed to be the lesser of all evils to keep up with everyone else’s drinking habits. There had been simply no time at all to talk to John. The other had begun to organise and prepare their flat in the morning, always vanishing again when Sherlock had just decided to finally voice something. It had been a lot more frustrating than seeing their flat slowly descent into Holliday-Party-Cheer-Obnoxiousness. There were the spices of mulled wine perfuming the air because apparently ‘ _ you cannot drink the stuff from the store _ ’. Mrs. Hudson had popped in an out, bringing all sorts of baked goods to be consumed now or later. Sherlock had still found it a ridiculous amount of work and now he really regretted not stopping John when he took the really big pot to prepare the mulled wine in.

He swallowed a few times, trying to get the awful taste out of his mouth. It wouldn’t work so his first stop was the bathroom. A look in the mirror confirmed what he had feared. His hair was not only ruffled beyond repair but his complexion didn’t look just pale anymore. It looked positively translucent and sickly. Gingerly, he decided to take a shower in an attempt to wash away the feeling of grubbiness crawling under his skin.

After brushing his teeth and drying his body in the slowest way possible without actually stopping to move, he felt something akin to human again. A nearly threadbare shirt and his old pyjama trousers made him ready to venture outside his lair. Straining his ears, he stood at his door for a moment. Outside he could hear the low clatter of someone cleaning. There were gentle sloshes of liquid, rags placed somewhat too vigorously over a chair back, and porcelain on a wooden surface. John was up and tiding the mess from the night before. Shortly Sherlock contemplated to not face whatever was awaiting him but then he braved the fear pooling low in his belly.

 

At first, John didn’t seem to realise that he was awake. Sherlock used the situation to carefully lean against the wall and observe. He hadn’t dared to do just that while their friends had been in their flat. With every fleeting glance he felt exposed, especially after the happenings with the mistletoe. Now, he was safe. There was no one who could be lurking behind him, his eyes were free to do what they wanted. John didn’t seem bothered by the party, he had drunken about as much as Sherlock but his body didn’t rebel. He was cleaning just the same way as he had been preparing the flat, efficiently, no superfluous ways, and meticulously. All his movements had the aim of completing his task as quickly as possible without letting the quality slide. Sherlock admired this ability. It spoke of someone completely in control of his bearings.

“Just gonna stand there or will you help?” a voice quipped and Sherlock realised he had stopped paying attention. John was looking at him squarely, his mouth pulled into a smiled. Obviously he could tell that Sherlock was feeling terrible.

“Ehrm…”

“All good, want to eat something or do you prefer an Aspirin?” John let Sherlock step fully into the kitchen and got a glass for him. Sherlock couldn’t quite ignore the way his friend’s body stretched as he had to revert to their upper shelf of glasses.

“I don’t think food will be… a good idea”, Sherlock admitted, slowly shuffling further into the room towards a kitchen chair. Should he bring up the kiss? Could it even be classified as such?

John actually stopped his work to let Sherlock sit at the table and sooth his throbbing head. His gaze was softly fixed upon him, not speaking until the glass of Aspirin water had been completely downed. Sherlock knew it wouldn’t immediately make him feel better but it was a start to recovery.

“Had a bit too much yesterday?” there was no scorn or joke in John’s question, just concern.

“I didn’t think it would have quite this heavy repercussions” Sherlock admitted, opening and closing the fingers of one hand slowly.

“Well, at least it was fun, wasn’t it?” John hummed “What were you discussion with Molly by the way? She seemed pretty insistent.”

“Nothing” for the state he was in, Sherlock answered shotgun quickly, “Just some things about the lab and new stuff.” That was a blatant lie. Molly had pulled him to the side, after he had been left wide eyes and frozen from John’s lips on his cheek. She was very apprehensive and had noticed Sherlock’s inner life a lot earlier than the detective had admitted it to himself. Of course she had been scolding him lightly about the fact that he hadn’t yet brought the topic to John’s attention.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly showing how much he didn’t buy that story. “If you say so. I have to get on with cleaning. So either you help or you’ll be quiet somewhere” he offered, looking at his friend.

“I’ll take the couch. Quietly” Sherlock decided. The mistletoes from last night had already disappeared he remarked on his way to his favourite position. Better like that, they had been incredibly annoying to avoid when seemingly everyone had wanted him to fall into the trap more than once. More so when the first time had proved to utterly derail him.

 

John was cleaning in a languid tempo or at least without stress. So, Sherlock had time to study him, when the headache had subsided a bit. Sometimes John tried to strike up a conversation but Sherlock deflected, giving a superficial answer. If one thing he didn’t want, it was accidently saying something that he didn’t intend to out of carelessness. He really was stuck in a predicament here. The party had somewhat opened his eyes to a point where he couldn’t reason them shut anymore. Perhaps actually the warm alcohol had done that. The doctor had started as a convenience in his life. Someone to share the rent with, so he wasn’t relying too much on money Mycroft had a close eye on. Additionally, John provided a nagging presence in his life which helped him to concentrate more on the work instead of drowning in sulks of boredom. After last Christmas, he was also sure that his parents were more than happy that John had taken over the task of ensuring Sherlock was healthy. Obviously, his mummy had immediately picked up on the notion that taking drugs was damn near impossible near the doctor. In her eyes, John was the perfect partner for her baby son and she had told him so. Sherlock sighed silently. At that point he had denied it but by now there was no lie he could hide behind anymore. Every logical reason why he couldn’t or better shouldn’t want John as more than a flatmate had unravelled. Not even the flimsiest of excuses was left and so he feared that like the Christmas cheer he would have to come to terms with the situation.

“Stop looking like someone died” John’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Sherlock looked a bit confused up at his friend who was apparently picking bits of nibbles from between the couch cushions on which the detective was currently lying. How had he not noticed that?

“Ah no, if someone had died, you would look more cheerful.” He corrected himself just as he was deftly picking up the other’s legs to inspect the furniture underneath them. “You look like Sally has told you, you are the nicest human she knows.”

For a moment Sherlock tried to imagine that hypothetical situation but failed because John was currently manhandling his body. Really, all he could do was hold on for the ride. Somehow he had the sinking feeling the remainder of the Christmas time was going to be a torture.

After what felt like an eternity, John had finally inspected the couch enough and as if it was an afterthought, said in turning away “Better be up again tomorrow. We’re going to your parents, don’t forget it”

At that point, all colour drained out of Sherlock’s features. His parents. His mum. She would know. Until now he had believed the party had been the worst thing to happen. Tomorrow he knew his mother would put the cherry on top of that. Please, he just wanted to die before that.


	19. Quick, more eggnog!

“Oh dearie, it’s so nice you’ve come by. Quick get in. It’s quite chilly out” Sherlock’s mother was fussing about them from the moment they had pushed the doorbell. It was obvious that she didn’t get to see her son often. John liked Sherlock’s parents overall. They had a grandparenty-feel to him. He knew that Sherlock’s mother was about as genius as her children. Still, she was a lot more down to earth compared to both Mycroft and Sherlock. Speaking of Mycroft, he was present, too. Really only Mary was missing and… no John wouldn’t think further down that path.

 

“Want more?” Sherlock’s father came in with two glasses of eggnog.

“Oh, yes please”, John said almost immediately. You could hear the usual bickering streaming out of the kitchen. Sherlock and Mycroft in one room around Christmas called for disaster. Their mother was handling them with practiced ease while she was making lunch but John very quickly had taken the road to the sitting room. Being under the scrutiny of one Holmes was bad but three was too much.

“It’s the only way the two know how to interact with one another” Mr. Holmes shrugged and sat down with a groan. “She’s good with ‘em. By now the two just get over my head. You always feel like there is something more going on than what you hear.”

“I know what you mean” John sighed, “It’s awful when Mycroft wants to get Sherlock to do something for him. They stare at each other with death glares, sometimes there is a disharmonious chord and then suddenly it’s all over. I’ve stopped trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“They weren’t always like that but you know, life happens.” Sherlock’s father smiled, “Mycroft went off to University. For Sherlock that was the biggest sell out possible and you know the age difference between them… it didn’t end well.”

“I can imagine” John hummed affirmative, “How often do you do these family reunions?”

Mr. Holmes laughed, “Not often. Really, it kills her inside but Mycroft always has to work and Sherlock isn’t that big on family time either. How are you with your family?”

John swallowed hard. He would definitely need more alcohol if he was to go down that road. “My sister’s got herself into a bit of an alcohol habit so we talk on and off depending on how she’s doing. Life in the army teaches you to not miss people too much.” He kind of deflected the question.

“I’m sure it was hard, leaving the first time that is”

“Surprisingly not”, John hummed, drinking a large quantity of his eggnog, “I knew what I had signed up for and being young you think of it as an adventure. Until you are in the middle of nowhere getting shot at. It becomes way less mystical then.”

 

“Mother stop it. There is nothing and just because you keep asking questions there will not suddenly be something” Sherlock groaned in despair as he changed places from the kitchen to the sitting room. He brought the bottle of eggnog along. A single look was enough for him to top up John’s glass before he sat down. They had apparently both decided the same thing: We need alcohol to survive this.

“Sherlock, be nice. You know how your mother is always looking forward to seeing you” his father reminded him “You know if you came by more often, it would all even out.”

“I doubt her prying questions will  _ even out _ ” Sherlock grimaced.

“Let her, boy. She just wants you to be happy.” Mr Holmes smiled.

John wasn’t quite sure what kind of conversation he was witnessing but he rather focused his attention on his drink. One never knew and he had the fleeting feeling, he didn’t want to know what kind of questions Mrs. Holmes was asking.

“That’s what they all say. It’s not that easy.” Sherlock was tapping his foot on the floor in a way John knew meant he was down on his nerves. Wasn’t it weird how well he could read his friend by now? Just a few ticks and nearly unnoticeable patterns which disclosed to him how to approach Sherlock. If he thought back, he couldn’t remember if he ever had that much knowledge about any of his girlfriends. Sure, the major ones you picked up on quickly but he was sure he knew Sherlock in and out. Didn’t that make for an interesting point to ponder over? Especially, in a house full of super observant deductionists.

“Dr. Watson how did that Christmas party of yours go? I’m so sorry I couldn’t fit it into my schedule.” Mycroft had sauntered into the room and was looking at John with a certain haughtiness. It made John twitch slightly with the suspicion that some games was played between the lines.

“Oh, it was very nice and laid back, thank you for asking. Sherlock drunk too much but I guess you had already deduced that.” It was a feeble attempt at hiding his inner turmoil but like this he wanted to see if Mycroft managed to turn the conversation into something more incriminating. He wouldn’t give him any verbal edge to ply on.

“You could have seen it for yourself if you weren’t always this busy” Mrs. Holmes  chided her son as she was bringing a bowl of potatoes to set on the dining table, “It’s no good sitting all day in an office not having down time.”

“Mother, I’m perfectly fine and I told you, I’m not always sitting in my office” Mycroft rolled his eyes and John had to bite back a grin. The British government brought down by an old lady.

“That’s what you tell yourself but you will see. You also should do some work out, all the sitting isn’t good for you.” That comment got a victorious grin from Sherlock. It was his favourite thing to tease his brother about and his mother had just given him more ammunition. John smiled at the childish glee Sherlock displayed.

 

He took a deep breath as he stood up to move towards the dining table. After lunch he would probably have to ask for something a bit stronger than eggnog. The day would get long and John was certain without alcohol, he would go mad. Well, at least there was Mr. Holmes who would not buy in to the havoc his sons would raise. Although John caught a look from Sherlock’s father which told him that the next time the two of them were alone, he wouldn’t be capable of easing out of the personal questions too quickly. He also got the distinct impression he had been looking at Sherlock the wrong way, because Mrs. Holmes was smiling softly. It seemed as if she knew something and John was slightly afraid.


	20. The curious cat

The post. Sherlock hated the whole idea or at least the idea of it ringing the doorbell at 8 am. His sleeping patterns were erratic at best so when he did fall asleep he hated being woken by unimportant things. Why did Mrs. Hudson have to be out today? Grumpily he was trotting back up the stairs, the package in hand which was clearly addressed to John Watson. His mind wasn’t quite up to the task of deducing the content yet so he put it down on the kitchen table. A cup of coffee and a shower should help his mind getting back on track again.

 

Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t wake up battle ready. There was normally a discrepancy of an hour before his brain power was up to standard again. It was another reason why Sherlock disliked the notion of sleeping. He never felt like himself for some time after.

The shower did help his body to get rolling again and with the mug of black coffee in hand Sherlock glanced at the package. It had been sent in a brown carton. No package tape with company logo, means small business or private vendor. The address was printed out but no logo on there either. Sherlock took a closer look at the carton, it was reused. The tape was placed over previous markings but there were some scruffs where a bit of carton had been pulled off. The edges weren’t completely clean anymore and overall there was too much tape for a professional packaging job.

“Who sent this to you?” Sherlock hummed “And what’s in there?” He was curious beyond believe. It had always been like this. For his work, this urge for knowledge was essential. In private, it had gotten him into the one or other precarious situation. People moaned about stuff like ‘ _ privacy _ ’ or ‘ _ postal secret _ ’.

Normally, if he couldn’t figure out from the outside what was in unopened packages, he would tear into them with no second thought. Well, perhaps not tear. He always made sure that, to the unobservant population, it looked like nothing ever happened. This time though, he had been staring at the cartoon for the duration of a second cup of coffee. John wouldn’t like it if he opened his post. Would John ever notice if he did? Sherlock was torn. It had all been so much easier… before. Now, he felt like everything he did was accompanied by a nagging ‘ _ What would John think about this? _ ’ in his head. Yes, he had always been somewhat eager to please but not to this extend. Especially not this focused on one person.

 

After a solid hour of doing nothing but staring at the unassuming package on top of the kitchen table Sherlock gave up. With the uttermost care he started opening it, memorising the placement of every piece of tape. It seemed useless, since John hadn’t yet seen the package but Sherlock was compelled to leave it all as it had been.

There was a rush of adrenalin when Sherlock pealed back the protective wrapping which was filling most of the package. When he saw the first glimpse of the contents, he knew it had been wrong to open the carton. Now, since he had already done the wrong deed he could also continue, exposing the contents in their entirety.

A collection of four small, brown bottles came to light. Sherlock handled them with great care, gently pulling out just a single one. The glass was old and the side had the word ‘poison’ indented into the material. They looked like old chemical bottles from the turn of the last century, perhaps even the 1800. Sherlock was incredibly excited just holding them. It took him a moment to figure out why John would have bought a set of historic medical flasks. Just as soon as he finished the thought, the answer dawned on him. John didn’t want to keep them. He was still looking for Christmas gifts and they were probably an addition to the book on beekeeping which Sherlock had already found at the start of the month. Quickly, the bottle was returned to its original place.

Sherlock felt indescribably guilty. He remembered his mother’s words ‘ _ curiosity killed the cat _ ’. He used to answer with ‘ _ and satisfaction brought it back _ ’ but he couldn’t find the satisfaction in this. He had opened the package, seen the insides and taped it all up again. John wouldn’t know. The realisation that it should have been a Christmas surprise for him, spoiled any glee Sherlock had felt at the sight of the historic flasks. John had gone out of his way to find something to gift to him which would be useful and special at the same time. Sherlock felt like an arse for having ruined that.

He swallowed hard and set to work. The fridge really needed a good cleaning. John had been bugging him for weeks. Perhaps he could even start a storage system which would designate certain areas for food and some for experiment. He knew he couldn’t really reverse his mistake but he thought, doing something nice for John in return might ease his mind.

That him voluntarily cleaning and organising their cooling units would be off the scale suspicious, didn’t register with Sherlock.


	21. Winter Wonderland

“Sherlock we have to do this” John sighed, quite sleepy himself. He was standing in the door to Sherlock’s bedroom, already pulling on a hat.

“Yes, but why me? It’s dark and cold” Sherlock whined, burying his face in his cushions.

“It’s the both of us because then we’ll be done quicker” John said. Actually, he didn’t really want Sherlock to come out of bed. Hell, the other looked perfect all groggy and warm. Sherlock’s hair was tussled form sleep and he clearly had no interest in getting out of his warm cocoon. But John also didn’t want to go shovelling snow at 5 am on his own.

Mrs. Hudson had informed them that the city was cutting back on spending and that now they were responsible to keep the small piece of pavement in front of the house snow free. They had already struck a bargain with Speedy’s but obviously it had to snow the week they were on duty.

“Don’t want to” Sherlock had yet to make any move to get out of bed “You are more suited for this kind of work.”

“In what way exactly?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re experienced, have clothes fitting for it and are not currently in bed” Sherlock huffed.

“Well, I would still be in bed if it weren’t snowing” John just deadpanned “Get out of bed and your arse downstairs. I leave a bit for you.”

The answer was just unintelligible mumbling. John shook his head and grabbed his coat, shrugging it over his shoulders on his way downstairs. The quicker he got to work the earlier he was back in the warm and could enjoy a cup of tea.

 

The wind was icy outside. John just tried to huddle deeper into his scarf as he started shovelling the snow from the pavement. He could understand why the pavements should be kept snow free since a lot of people were using them to get to work, and it was in his own interest to minimise possible accident sites. Still, having to be the one doing this at 5 am made him slightly grumpy. It didn’t help that Sherlock had yet to get his arse outside to help.

“Your technique isn’t very efficient”

“Shut up and come down” John turned around and looked up. Sure as hell Sherlock was standing at the window, bundled up in a thick blanket.

“It’s terribly cold out” Sherlock just shrugged “I’d rather stay here”

“Sherlock, this is ridiculous. It’s our turn to get rid of the snow and not let the pavement become an icy death trap” John said exasperated “Stop behaving like a baby and come help”

“I’m helping a lot more from up here. I can tell you where you’ve missed spots. It’s a lot easier to spot from a higher vantage point” Sherlock answered smugly.

“Seriously, I will murder you slowly and painfully” John groaned as he continued to get rid of the snow. He could stand there and argue with Sherlock or just get on with the job. In the end, the detective wouldn’t come downstairs either way.

“You look good working like that” Sherlock hummed.

“What?” John was sure he had misheard something there.

“I said” Sherlock called a bit louder “You look good working like that. Your body is incredibly efficient in its movements.”

John wasn’t sure how to take the compliment. At least he assumed it was one. Sherlock was standing at the window, looking like a blanket burrito and called compliments onto the street underneath. All this while he himself was shovelling snow in the light of the street lamps. It felt like any cliché romantic comedy ever. Sadly though he wouldn’t be going upstairs to snog Sherlock afterwards. There was a thought he needed to work off.

Yes, the Christmas Party had opened his eyes to what he’d really like to do with his flatmate. Still, he felt the thoughts just came a bit too naturally already. Especially since Sherlock was married to his work and this whole situation would only make matters worse. Until John had learned to neatly push everything down again, he probably shouldn’t ponder on these thoughts for too long. Presumably, Sherlock hadn’t gotten the social implications of what he had said. He probably really just had spotted something anatomical he had to voice.

John worked off the comment which seemed to have burned itself straight into his memory. Sherlock never stepped away from the window, looking carefully over the progress John made, offering his advice now and then. All John could think about though, was how warm and soft Sherlock would be under that big duvet he had wrapped around him. At least, he wasn’t cold anymore but he would have to be quick to disappear once upstairs again.

 

“Ah come on, that should be enough. Whoever slips now is an idiot and deserves to spend Christmas in a cast” Sherlock whined from upstairs. Clearly, the draft had been chilling down the temperature in the flat considerably.

“You’ll get us out of any court case, should there come one” John called up but really he had enough, too. The majority of the pavement was snow free and he wanted to get back inside.

“Mycroft will do that” Sherlock said “Come back up, I’m closing the window. It’s freezing.”

“Yeah, tell me about that” John shook his head and got back inside. At the top of the stairs a bundle of blankets was waiting for him.

“Quick, the hallway isn’t that much warmer either”

John just wished this was actually a rom-com because then he would not be making a tea and go back to his room on his own. Really, Sherlock wasn’t making this easy for him.


	22. Christmas Bake Off

“You got me in on this only by saying we can do it my way!” Sherlock looked at John reproachfully. They had set up their kitchen for baking Christmas Cookies which had meant removing everything to do with chemical experiments. The detective had pretended to be less than keen on doing something as pedestrian as baking cookies.

“No, I said  _ you _ can do it your way”, John grinned and started grabbing ingredients. “You’ve got your own bowls and scales. Your job is to bake the gingerbread pieces for the house. I’m doing two variants of easier cookies. This should put us at the same place in the end.”

“But then you will still use the wrong method” Sherlock complained. He had figured he probably shouldn’t divert from his usual behaviour too much or John would notice that his flatmate didn’t see him as just a friend anymore.

“Yes, but I will do it on my side and you can use the  _ right  _ method over on your side” John said calmly. They had had a discussion about how to bake Christmas cookies. John had done it for years the exact way he learned it from his mother. He never needed a receipt and sometimes not even scales. Sherlock on the other hand was hell bent on the scientific method. In his view baking was just a more elaborate experiment where he had to follow instructions precisely. John knew that if they were to bake together all hell would break loose. This was just his way of minimising potential damage. Additionally, he wanted to decorate a gingerbread house with Sherlock, hoping it would offer him a few moments of closeness to the other without being too obvious.

Sherlock huffed but actually started to look at his receipt. He had a competitive streak so he wanted to make sure his baking was superior. Even if that all was just to please John and perhaps stand a little too close from time to time.

John smiled and cheerfully continued mixing his cookies. Their flat was comfortably warm and with all the spices Sherlock would need the kitchen smelled like Christmas. It was quite opposed to the usual chemical smell which Sherlock was responsible for. Like John had assumed Sherlock worked as efficiently as he did while overlooking any other experiment. Since they had two somewhat separate work stations, they didn’t get too much into each other’s way. Except of course for Sherlock’s nose peaking over into John’s bowl from time to time, grumbling about all the ways the doctor’s baking was  _ wrong _ .

 

“And now what?” Sherlock asked, his gingerbread pieces having come out of the oven beautifully browned. He had meticulously measured each panel for the house before cutting it and placing it on the sheet. He never did anything less than perfect and since John had given him the task, he wanted to prove that he could do a great job. It was just as much about impressing his friend as satisfying his inner need for perfection.

“We let them cool down completely and then we’ll build and decorate the house” John smiled. He had already started cleaning up all the ingredients they wouldn’t need anymore. Exactly the task Sherlock didn’t like and therefore skipped most of the time. The doctor didn’t mind. He still had the images of Sherlock baking with dedication on his mind. He didn’t even want to imagine what the other could do with that amount of dedication in other fields.

Sherlock sighed dramatically, “We need to decorate it? With what?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know that” John chuckled “You’ve got a sweet tooth. You know it’s sweets and why we need to decorate it: So it looks nice and christmassy. It’s what you do, Sherlock.” John pulled a few smaller candies out of a kitchen cupboard and then went to get the bigger ones from the cabinet in the hallway where their cleaning utensils were kept. This way he could be sure Sherlock never actually found them. Not that John had a problem with Sherlock’s sweet tooth under normal circumstances because it made the other eat something at least.

“Why were you hiding them alongside our hoover?”

“So you” John poked a finger at Sherlock’s chest “Wouldn’t find and eat them before I could use them for what I had planned to use them for.”

Sherlock scrunched up his nose, obviously not wanting to admit that John probably would have been right. He had a sweet tooth and some of the candies definitely wouldn’t have had a long life in his vicinity. Still, he felt a little betrayed at the secrecy. The casual touch to his chest though was spreading a warm feeling through his body. It was absolutely ridiculous and Sherlock just felt even sorrier for the general population who seemed to get themselves into this kind of predicament all the time. He had no idea how he should ever pick up his work again when Christmas was over. The feelings wouldn’t just vanish, he was getting more and more certain of that.

“Stop pulling such a long face” John chuckled “You can eat the leftovers once we’ve decorated the house.”

 

If John had thought that baking with Sherlock would be memorable, he had never entertained the idea of decorating something with his flatmate. All the arguments they got into were good natured and far from serious, but by god Sherlock had a thick head. John just let his friend do as he pleased at some point, letting him placing the candies down in some pattern or another. He liked seeing Sherlock smile and engaged in something which wouldn’t put their flat or either of their lives at risk. Actually, he just liked the excuse to be close to Sherlock if he was honest. The house wasn’t too big and working on it together required them standing near. Sometimes you reached over a bowl to get what you wanted and inevitably brushed together. Sherlock didn’t seem faced by it and so John could enjoy the moment. He felt slightly guilty entertaining the idea of them being this close and casual with each other on a day to day basis. John really wouldn’t mind them being more than just friends but somehow he thought that was the Christmas time in him talking. It usually made him pensive and wistful. There was no need to scare Sherlock away from what they had, right? He could deal with it as it was, right? It was all good… wasn’t it?


	23. Last preparations

“I’ll be upstairs” John called “See you tomorrow, don’t come up. I’ll be wrapping presents.”

“Boring. I’ll deduce what’s in there either way, which makes this a waste of your time.” Sherlock just hummed. The guilt was still nagging at him. He had peaked at his presents so he would have to play along on Christmas Day, just to make John happy.

“But it wouldn’t be fun if they weren’t wrapped so shut it. Good night.” John smiled and finally went upstairs bringing a roll of Sellotape with him.

 

When his bedroom door was firmly locked, John placed the gifts on his bed. It were mostly the ones for Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson’s and Sherlock’s parents. Mycroft had gotten his already when they had met last time since John never really knew what address to send a present to. Sherlock wasn’t much help in that regard both because he would rather not give his brother anything and therefore also wouldn’t cooperate in giving an address. Harry’s had already been sent off with the post and Lestrade and Molly had taken theirs back home from their party days earlier.

With a slight smile John got to work. He wasn’t skilled at wrapping gifts but one of them had to do it and Sherlock surely wasn’t going to. Currently, he was eying the one roll of Christmas wrapping paper he had bought. It might be a tight fit. After all, he still had to wrap five presents in the left overs of the paper. Well, he would have to measure carefully and not waste too much then.

John started with the present for Mrs. Hudson. It was simple and he felt like pushing Sherlock’s presents to the back of his list. Yes, he had bought them. Yes, he had put thought into them. Yes, he knew certain implications. Still, picking them up again, seeing what and why he had bought it and not being able to help himself but imagine how Sherlock would, was something he ran away from, slightly. So, first he concentrated on the other bits and pieces.

He would need to remember to take the box with the present for Sherlock’s parents to the post office on his way to work tomorrow. Really, it would have been easier if they had already found the gift before the drove all the way out of town to Sherlock’s childhood home. Like Mycroft they could have used the trip to avoid the postal service. Well, nothing for it now.

 

John sighed as he realised that only Sherlock’s presents were remaining after half an hour of wrapping. He had told himself at the beginning of the month he would keep it useful and void of sentiment. They had agreed on presents to acknowledge their friendship but not more. Initially, John had just found the old book on beekeeping while leisurely looking through an antiques shop. It seemed perfect for Sherlock who seemed to have a knack for anything old and bees. Besides, it had been reasonably priced and John thought that he would be done for this year. Then, another boring evening had struck and the internet proved to be a deep pit once again. Clicking mindlessly from one thing to another lead him to an online page where people sold their private antiquities. Mostly, it was useless stuff they had found on their attic or while clearing out a deceased family members home. Still, John had continued looking through the site aimlessly. The small, old medical bottles made him smile. The way poison was stamped into the material on the side just made him think of his best friend. Sherlock was pouring all and everything into jam jars and old juice bottles. This would be so much more fitting and threatening looking over all. Before he could quite comprehend the reasons, John found himself ordering the small set of three bottles. Well, he thought they would still be considered a ‘useful’ gift, after all John had been nagging Sherlock for ages to label his things. These bottles came with a pre-existing label perhaps that would make things easier. 

Wrapping those presents was easy. The box and shape of the book didn’t really impede his progress. Thinking about it, they really were useful gifts. They were on the safe side. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to find any sentiment or feelings attached to them. A book was always a way to entertain the other for a day and the flasks were just the right kind of antique nick-nack which Sherlock decorated the flat with. How the scarf fitted into all of this, he wasn’t yet sure. It had been expensive but John hadn’t been able to hold himself back. The deep emerald colouring would just fit perfectly around that pale, long neck. Over the course of the month John had realised that his feelings towards his friend had changed or perhaps more fittingly: developed. In hindsight, he wasn’t even sure if it hadn’t always been like this and he had only been too thick to notice it. With his fingers running over the soft item, John tried to rationalise this choice of gift. He would need to come up with a good excuse until Christmas Day in order for Sherlock to not become suspicious. The detective didn’t actually need a new scarf, John just wanted to see him wear something he had given to him. The chances of Sherlock actually belonging to him were slim if not non-existent. Therefore this was the closest he would ever get to it.

“What have I gotten myself into?” John groaned. It would do no good but he was in love with his best friend. Now, he could only hope Sherlock would handle it graciously when he found out, there was no doubt he would at some point. John didn’t need this to destroy his home. He was old enough, he would deal with it and Sherlock wouldn’t have to worry.


	24. Silent Night

“Ah, this is nice.” John stretched out after setting his empty container of take out to the side.

“It’s warm for one” Sherlock hummed, his feet curled up on his chair in front of the fire. To his left there was an equally empty container of Chinese food. Lestrade had sprung a very minor case on them in the morning. It had only been a four at best but after three weeks of Christmas madness, Sherlock had been ready to take anything. Nevertheless, the case had kept them out until the evening and with London’s recent snowy surprise they had been thoroughly gnawed on by the cold. Sherlock hadn’t even complained when John had ordered food. He had been too busy trying to thaw his feet in front of the fire. Now they were both full, warm and pretty lazy.

“Yes, it is” John nodded, “But come on it’s nice that we get real wintery weather towards Christmas.”

“If you say so. I’m not setting another foot outside.” Sherlock grumbled slightly and just the thought of being cold again, made him swear to himself that the thermostat first had to climb about 10 degrees up again before he would leave his flat.

The doctor chuckled, “Well, if you possessed something more winter appropriated than dress shoes, you wouldn’t have to suffer popsicle toes.”

“My shoes are perfectly fine” Sherlock huffed but he knew that John was right.

“No, they aren’t.” John grinned and stood up, “You are just too vain, admit it.” He stretched a bit before turning towards the kitchen. “How about a Hot Chocolate? I feel it could be appropriate”

Sherlock hummed in agreement. Why not. They could spend a cosy evening inside in front of the fire after chasing a criminal through London’s freezing streets. Their usual drink of choice for such instances was tea but if John offered to spend five minutes more, making a sugary drink Sherlock wouldn’t say no. Especially, the attention John was granting him was a little intoxicating. The whole way through the case today, Sherlock had felt like John had stood just a little more closely, had given just a few more praising commentaries and just had seemed to observe him more intensely than usual. He put it towards his own wistful thinking. It probably had just seemed so because Sherlock himself, had been doing exactly that: standing a bit too close, observing a bit too much and even acknowledging a halfway smart thing John had uttered. His reserve had been chipped away at gradually over the month and today it apparently had managed to disappear completely. He had just hoped John wouldn’t notice it or simply put it down as one of his moods. Sherlock needed time, he really needed moments to get his act back together and not scare John off, again.

 

The detective was still deep in thoughts as John came back and nudged him gently. “Hey, wake up” He was trying to hand him a mug. With a slight startle Sherlock looked up at his friend. He was shocked at how John was looking at him. There was a certain warmth in his gaze which made Sherlock just want to admit to all the emotional turmoil on the spot. Lucky for him, the doctor just pressed the mug into his hand and went to his own chair. The fire was crackling in the background and Sherlock was feeling his hope sink. He wouldn’t get his heart back under control and it would break everything.

“I really missed the fireplace, you know.” John remarked idly. “It was near impossible to find a new flat with a proper one, so we crossed the item from the list. It made winter time a lot less comfortable.”

Sherlock just hummed, amazed how John just could strike up a casual conversation without it sounding out of place.

“How did you…” he suddenly sat up a bit straighter and Sherlock just knew a more serious topic would come, “I know we never talked about this, but I can’t stop thinking about what you did during the years when you… you know, weren’t here.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply. He didn’t particularly want to remember the years after the fall. They had brought him only suffering. First, he thought he just had to do this and then he could return to John. But then John had moved on and suddenly the suffering had continued.

“I’m sorry, I know it must be hard but…” John continued, fidgeting slightly with the cup in his hand, “I want to know. I thought I didn’t, thought I would be okay with it just going back but there are too many questions and… now that Mary also had her secrets. I just don’t want to navigate ‘ _ not knowing’ _ anymore”

Sherlock swallowed. He knew that at some point the topic might resurface. It wasn’t like he had been able to suppress the memories and they were now coming back. They were always present, haunting his every step. Still, he never had voiced how his plan had spiralled deeper and deeper into horror before it had ended. The way John was looking at him, the way he had been falling back into his place after Mary, the way the whole month had gone… Sherlock just knew that he would break the silence. It wasn’t because John deserved to know. It was because he couldn’t bear the weight anymore.

“I just start after the fall or is there something special you wanted to know?” Sherlock asked, voice soft and lacking the usual aloofness.

“No, just do it how you feel comfortable” John said quickly.

 

Sherlock nodded and started. He knew that he would have loved to account for the events in a logic order. In the end, they were more or like bits of unconnected situations floating around, punctuated by questions from John or sudden flashes of importance form himself. All in all, he told what happened the way he felt about it – unconnected, strange and random. John listened through the parts where no comment was necessary, where no comment would fit and where no word could encompass what would have needed to be said. It felt like the unbearable weight of his isolation was slowly lifted off Sherlock’s shoulders, right there in the sitting room in front of the fire with John in his old, tattered armchair. It was the exact situation Sherlock had looked for but not found when he had come back. It was the idea which had kept him going. Kept him going to come home to this – his flat, his friend, his home.

“Thank you” John just said when Sherlock seemed to have run dry. Two simple words and the detective smiled softly. It probably should feel more monumental than it did but John always had a way of turning things normal, comfortable. “I’m glad you came home.”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath. It was Christmas Eve tomorrow. Suddenly, it didn’t seem that frightening anymore. There was 221B, a fire, tea and John. He might not be able to bottle up his emotions but now there was a chance John wouldn’t judge him for it. Plus, there was no need to bring the topic up. It was Christmas and the holiday would hide everything if he let it.


	25. Just one more night, don't make me spend it alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone :) this is the second to last chapter.
> 
> the_elusive_plot has managed to write the end to this chapter which I procrastinated for so long that with Uni comming in full force I wouldn't have been able to do anymore :)

Sherlock was pacing the sitting room. It was around 11pm on Christmas Eve and he couldn’t sleep. John had left for bed about an hour earlier and Sherlock had tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. With him having behaved like a Grinch towards the beginning of the month, one should think that Christmas itself didn’t faze him either. The realty looked a lot different, though. Since he was a child, he had his troubles getting the final night over with. When he had moved out, it got somewhat easier because the constant reminders could be banished easily from his surroundings. This year, he had feared his condition would return full force the moment John had started decorating their flat. He just knew that he would spend the evening of the 24 th rummaging restlessly around the flat. It was stupid. As a child he could push it on being excited about presents. As an adult that would just be a stupid excuse. Still, he couldn’t deny that something was off. Perhaps this were the after effects of the previous night. He had tried to make it all appear as normal as possible throughout the day, well he might have deliberately hidden from John’s view. In his eyes it had been a very reasonable thing, since he had laid so much bare that he feared John would connect the last dots and Sherlock subsequently would have to spend Christmas alone in a completely decorated flat, which would scream John’s name from every corner.

“Can’t sleep either?” Sherlock whirled around at the sound of John’s voice.

“I thought you wanted to sleep.”

“Yes I did plan that” John sighed “But I couldn’t stop tossing and turning so I thought I might as well get up again.”

That was rather interesting. John never had problems falling asleep anywhere, at any time and in any position. Therefor Sherlock looked at him slightly confused.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us.” John chuckled and looked around the flat, “Fancy a walk? Perhaps the cold air can get us tired enough to fall asleep.”

“A walk?” Sherlock asked incredulous.

“Yes, Sherlock. The thing where you put on warm clothes and then go outside”, John smirked. “Come on put your coat on, we’re going out” He turned around to grab his own things, trusting the detective would follow. These instances were the only he could count on Sherlock for once just doing what he was told. Especially, since he didn’t seem to have a better idea at the moment either.

 

Dutiful like a puppy dog, Sherlock followed John outside. His first breath in the cold night air swirled in front of his face like smoke. It had stopped snowing but the drop in temperature was enough to leave a layer of white all over the city. In the dark it seemed serene. Still, it was cold and Sherlock quickly pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat.  

“Let’s go.”, John smirked, “A bit of walking will warm your muscles.”

“I seriously doubt it making a difference” Sherlock sighed, trying to push up his shoulders and huddle deeper into his scarf.

The doctor laughed, “Ah, come on. At least the change in temperature when we come back, will make you drowsy. You’ll see that sleep will be much easier.”

Sherlock didn’t look too confident but he really couldn’t argue when John pulled him along, linked arms with him and just proceeded to walk along like nothing happened. It let Sherlock’s mind stutter to a complete hold. He was too preoccupied analysing the possible reasons leading to John’s action, the weight of the other’s arms against his own and the pleasure of the closeness. Before he noticed it, they had entered Regent’s Park. Obviously at this time of day, or better night, it was deserted and dark but that actually helped with Sherlock relaxing more into the idea of taking an evening walk with John. He couldn’t help but enjoy it. 

 

“How do you feel about snowball fights?”, John asked seemingly out of nowhere. They had nearly finished their round and John didn’t feel like going home already. Somehow he thought that if they went home now, they would just go their separate ways again. 

“What kind of feelings should I have towards them?” Sherlock asked, eyebrows drawn together. He wasn’t sure what John wanted to imply with the question. He turned his head towards the other, trying to figure out what had provoked the question. 

“Oh, just: do you like them, hate them, perhaps never had them?” John hummed and grinned at Sherlock. 

“Snow is cold.” Sherlock answered carefully, looking at John a bit suspicious.

“Mhm” John nodded, feeling Sherlock’s gaze upon him. If he wanted to go through with this, he would need to be quick. He had no idea where the idea had come from but suddenly there was the adrenaline buzzing under his skin. It seemed silly but perhaps that was exactly what they needed right now to push them the rest of the way.

When they came past the next big open space, John ducked down and quickly grabbed a handful of snow, compacting it loosely and threw it at the side of Sherlock’s face. It all happened so quickly that Sherlock didn’t have enough time to realise what was happening and then also duck out of the way. As a result the side of his face was now wet and cold. 

“What?” Sherlock asked, face totally incredulous.

John grinned and brought a bit of space between them, taking just a little longer to form a decent snowball before firing it at Sherlock who avoided it. “Ah, come on. It’s just a bit of fun.” Walking backwards into the snow covered plane, John armed himself again.

Sherlock wiped his hand across the side of his face, trying to get rid of some of the melting snow at least. “You didn’t really just throw a snowball at me, did you?” 

“Oh that depends” John chuckled and chucked another one into the general direction of his friend, “Does it look like I did?” 

Sherlock nearly growled and John knew he had tickled the other’s competetive streak. Before long they were engrossed in a veritable snowball fight. Both were taking numerous hits. Sherlock’s advantage of height was balanced out by John’s aim. After about ten minutes of near constant fire John realised they would never end it like this. In a moment of madness, John tackled Sherlock into the snow. They rolled around a few times, since even if Sherlock was surprised he would not make do with just being thrown to the floor. Giggling like schoolchildren, they came to a halt  John on his back and Sherlock bracing himself, arms on John’s chest.

“This is just ridiculous”, John tried to catch his breath.

“You think so?” Sherlock asked, hair all ruffled and face flushed from their fight.

“Yes” John smiled, “But we’ve done worse.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to answer to that and he suddenly noticed their position. Their heated breaths were condensing in the cold air between their faces. The eery silence around them helped to isolate them from their surroundings. For a while there was nothing but the two of them, trapped in their own little world. Anything could happen as they were lying there in the cold snow. It was obvious right then and there neither Sherlock nor John would have pulled away, the realisation making them look at the other in surprised awe.  

 

Their short moment was over when John cleared his throat. They looked at each other a bit awkwardly before John broke the silence, “Home?”

Sherlock nodded softly, “Yeah.” He helped John to get up and they quickly patted off some of the snow stuck to their clothes before starting the walk home. It was clear they were both still mentally caught in the moment.

 

The way back to the flat was quiet. They were still a bit giddy from the snowball fight and their little tumble. None of them could have foreseen what would happen when they embarked on their walk and so they weren’t sure how to proceed.

Their hallway was wonderfully warm compared to the cold outside. There was no denying that both of them breathed a sigh of relief when the bite of the cold wind was replaced by warm air. Sherlock was the first up the stairs, actually turning around when he heard John stop a few steps down from him.

“What? You want to stay out here?”, he asked a bit confused.

“No” John smiled and fixed a point above Sherlock’s head, “But apparently, Mrs. Hudson had claimed her Mistletoe again.”

Now Sherlock looked up, too. John was right. The small bundle was hanging over the entrance to their flat. It was inconspicuous enough for them to have completely disregarded it when they had left. Whenever Mrs. Hudson put it up, she had to have been as quiet as a mouse because Sherlock hadn’t notice her coming up at any point.

“Well… “ John cleared his throat, having stepped up to Sherlock. “There is this little thing about Mistletoes.” Their earlier tumble in the snow had given him enough confidence to be somewhat bold now.

“Yeah, I heard about something like that” Sherlock murmured, more fixated on John being so close. It was different from their scene outside, enough so to slightly overwhelm the detective. The intent was obvious and just the thought had him stopping. He had wanted this, hadn’t he? His mind had spent countless hours envisioning scenarios very similar to this. At the moment though, he had no idea how to act.

Fortunately, John didn’t let him hang in the balance for long, leaning in and pressing their lips together softly. There still was a little voice of fear nagging in the back of his head, so he didn’t go all the way yet. Sherlock could still pull away and announce he had misinterpreted everything. But it didn’t happen. John grew a bit bolder as it transpired that Sherlock wouldn’t push him away. He gently put his hands to the other’s slim hips and pulled him a little closer. Here they were standing in their flat door, sometime between Christmas Eve and Day, kissing under a mistletoe. You couldn’t get more cliché if you tried.

“Inside”, Sherlock breathed heavily when they pulled away for just a moment, suddenly their surroundings seemed wholly inadequate. 

“Very good idea”, John hummed in agreement, walking Sherlock slowly backwards and quickly closing the door on the outside. It had taken so long for him to get this far, John wanted to enjoy it in peace. Sherlock looked still a bit lost. It seemed that the happenings were just slowly catching up with him.

“Are you alright?” John asked, not wanting to have assessed the situation wrong.

“Yeah” Sherlock nodded and slowly smiled. Yes, he was alright, probably even better than alright. 

 

Sherlock stepped forwards carefully taking John’s face in his hands, both of them smiling. Sherlock ran his thumb over the older man’s lips as if to ask for permission. John gave a slight nod before the detective leaned down to steal a kiss.

The kiss seemed to last an eternity. As Sherlock pulled away John pulled him back in for another and then another the kisses grew longer and longer, and both men clutched at each other. Short pauses of breath mingling with deep moans as kisses grew heated.

After awhile the doctor held the taller man’s head to pull back so he could ask “Sherlock?”

Sherlock opened his eyes to his hopefully, soon to be lover, “Hmmm?”

“Do you want to…?” John trailed of as he nodded towards the stairs to his bedroom.

Almost without hesitation the detective gave a jerky nod and was pulled along upstairs. Both men seemed to hesitate as they stepped inside the bedroom. John moved first pulling his partner in for another kiss as before the kisses grew heated and soon they were making their way towards the bed. They pealed each other out of their clothes barely letting their lips leave each other for more than a moment. They panted foreheads leaning against each other. Before John reached behind the taller man to pull down the covers and lead his blushing partner into bed.

John rolled ontop Sherlock, smiling comfortingly but with a sly edge to it. They ravaged each other’s mouths, hands roaming over each other and arousal grinding against each other. John paused pulling back and reached towards the bedside drawer pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom.

 

John hesitated asking “Do you want to? or do you want me to?...” he trailed off again hoping the younger man understood his meaning. 

Sherlock smiled thrusting up and murmured “Umm, ... want you inside me”

John gasped at the rough thrust and language from the detective. Before coating his fingers and masageing his pinky against his lover’s hole. Sherlock tried to relax closing his eyes and breathing as one and then two fingers slipped in joined by more as John slowly opened him up tying to ease his discomfort stroking the detective’s member and rubbing at his prostate. 

As a fourth finger entered him pumping in and out John asked softly “ready” 

 

Taking his lover’s hand and kissing it, before Sherlock tightened his grip as John slowly entered him eyes clenched trying not to thrust forward. Sherlock’s breath quickened once again and was trying to hold still, finally the doctor bottomed out adjusting his position he rocked forward managing to hit his partner’s prostate on the first thrust causing a startled moan out from below him.

“Good?” John asked slowing pulling in and out in a steady rhythm

“V-very goo-ooooh!” Sherlock tired to answer breaking into another moan

They worked in a rhythm the experienced doctor dragging louder and louder moans out of the man beneath him. Leaning down kissed his lover’s still read lips muffling him somewhat. They slowly picked up speed moving against each other unaware of the creak of the bed or their own noise as they were only focused on each other.

John started to reach his peak and Sherlock was lost to his pleasure on the edge already. The doctor took his lover’s cock in hand and thrust in time picking up speed again and. They reached their peak together muffling their faces in the other’s skin.

  
Soaked in sweat John gave his lover one last deep kiss before pulling out and reaching over to grab a discarded item of clothing to clean their mess. The two men slept that night peacefully wrapped in each other.


	26. The Christmas Miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is the end. Merry Christmas to everyone who read this story. I hope you all got what you wished for and had a nice time with family/friends/your loved ones.

Sherlock’s room was remarkably dark. John had not woken from some soft, stray light hitting his face but from his own body being well rested. He felt warm, comfortable and content. It was exactly what he had imagined a Christmas Morning should feel like when you were grown up. A gentle smile spread over his face when he remembered how long he had needed to achieve this state. In the end, he felt it had been worth it, even if it just were for the moment of waking up with Sherlock’s face pressed against the side of his ribcage. The other was snoring softly, his face completely free from any kind of stress or torment. He seemed so vulnerable that John just wanted to wrap himself around the detective.

 

“I guess it’s Merry Christmas” the deep voice suddenly rumbled at his side. John had apparently zoned out for a moment and had missed the moment Sherlock had woken. He wanted to feel mournful about it but then he would still have plenty of opportunity to watch the other slowly wake up.

“Well, I certainly think it is” John hummed and kissed Sherlock. He was in awe that after all this time, he was allowed to do this. Add to that it being a little Christmas present.

Sherlock hummed, shuffling closer to the warmth of John’s body. Part of his mind was still not completely sure this was his reality now. There was something otherworldly about the possibility of this being the new normal. Perhaps he could revise his opinion of sleep when this was how waking up would go.

“What do you think of breakfast and presents?” John murmured after a while, having pushed a hand into Sherlock’s silky curls. That hair was just ridiculously soft and he couldn’t get enough of the strands running through his fingers.

Sherlock froze nearly immediately as John mentioned the presents. He probably should tell him now. After what happened last night, he felt even guiltier for having peaked at his presents.

“Hey, what’s up?” John asked. He knew Sherlock wasn’t big on eating but breakfast shouldn’t startle him that much.

“Ehrm… there is something I should with all likelihood inform you of” Sherlock mumbled, taking great care to not look directly at John.

“What drug is it this time?” It was nearly surprising and also a little mad how calmly the question came over the doctor’s lips

“What? No” Sherlock sounded honest to god shocked at the assumption “I didn’t drug you.”

“Oh, well then. What else did you do?”

“Ipeakedatmypresents” Sherlock quickly let the words stumble out of his mouth.

John chuckled, “You did what?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, “I intentionally sought out one present and then I opened the box which came by post. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Yes, of course you shouldn’t have” John hummed and gently moved Sherlock’s chin up, “But I never expected anything else. That’s why some things never came up here.”

Sherlock was surprised and that showed in his face. He didn’t have a clue that John had carefully set him up. It only proved again how well the other knew him by now.

“But perhaps you’ve learned something through this experience.” John smirked “I know it’s silly but I’m still hopeful.” A quick kiss to Sherlock’s forehead followed before John got up. “I’m making something sweet for breakfast. Will I tempt you to eat like that?”

Sherlock continued to smile a bit dazed. He just gave a noncommittal shrug at John’s question but he thought it would probably wouldn’t be misperceived.

 

Soon they were both sitting in front of their fireplace again, each a mug of tea balanced on a table near them. There was a lot less noise filtering in from the outside. Even the busy streets of central London seemed to rest for the holiday. Their flat was heated up properly, keeping the chill outside.

“Have we ever actually done this before?” John asked while he tried to remember their past Christmases together. There had been the one at Sherlock’s parents place, the two where it was just Mary and before that… there had always been something going on. Once John seemed to remember he had actually been at Harry’s.

“What? Sit in front of the fire on Christmas Morning or taken incredibly long to eat breakfast because of… breaks?”

John laughed “You berk. I mean this: Sitting in front of the fire on Christmas morning without rush.”

“No” Sherlock shook his head slowly and took a sip of his tea, “We haven’t but if you’re amiable we can change that as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes”, John nodded and smiled, “I’d be very amiable to that. Although we can also spend it in bed or on the couch. I don’t so much care about the place.”

Sherlock grinned over the rim of his mug. He was feeling oddly content and calm. The storm inside his head had slowed down, actually letting him enjoy the moment for once. Something inside him fell back into its proper place and just then Sherlock noticed that the pain from his time away had finally faded into the background. It wasn’t gone but it seemed to have gotten a purpose.

 

The presents were becoming more and more a side issue. They just got to them because somehow tradition dictated they should. Sherlock had put himself on the floor between John’s legs, so the other could run his fingers through his hair while they were unwrapping gifts. Sherlock knew about the book of beekeeping and the medical flasks already but nevertheless made sure to express his gratitude. On the other hand he was honestly delighted at the new, dark green, scarf which John had found for him and knowingly hidden downstairs in Mrs. Hudson’s flat. He buried his nose in it, closing his eyes and for a short moment let himself imagine wearing it outside. There was nothing wrong with his blue scarf, it had served him well but he doubted he would exchange this one for anything. It would be something John had given to him which he could always carry along, reminding him where home was at the end of the day.

The Holmes’ parents had gifted them a pair of novelty mugs which John found hilarious and Sherlock hideous. Funnily enough one present came from Lestrade  _ and _ Molly. Sherlock groaned at the implications and John just smiled. Mrs Hudson had made sure that her box was filled to the brim with Cookies, Minced Pies and other Sweets. They could probably live of that for the rest of the day. Looking at Sherlock John also thought that his partner obviously had already planned exactly that. Mycroft had gone with a tasteful selection of chocolates accompanying an expensive looking bottle of wine. Sherlock just scoffed at it but John marked it down as something they could make use of tonight. After all, he was in the mood to celebrate.

“Yuhu, boys” the cheery voice of their elderly landlady floated up the stairs about two hours after they had gotten out of bed. Sherlock and John exchanged a short look but then decided to stay exactly where they were. John’s fingers softly scraping through Sherlock’s hair, who sat at his feet with his long digits curled around a steaming mug of tea.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and let out a high shriek of sheer delight.

“Merry Christmas” Sherlock and John said in unison, smiling softly at the old lady. Now, John thought, she could tell Mrs. Turner from next door about her Christmas Miracle. After all she had put up with, it was her deserved payoff.

**Author's Note:**

> http://the-elusive-plot.tumblr.com/
> 
> http://whatifiaminsane.tumblr.com/


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